Disasters in Childrearing
by Duchess Delanie
Summary: Stoick discovers the many intricacies of single parenting.
1. Introduction

**_Prologue_**

Stoick the Vast remembered the time when life held a trusted pattern. The days were more or less the same. Predictable, simple. The sun rose each morning, the village sprang to life with its pastimes of sheep rearing, fishing, and farming where the soil would allow. The sun would set with its more or less bawdy socializations that served the respectable purpose of making life interesting. Even dragon attacks were predictable in the sense one could always count on them. Stoick preferred life that way. He wasn't a man prone to excessive amounts of thinking. Life in Berk was indeed a simple if hard one and he preferred it that way.

His life followed a predictable pattern as well, the one he had always expected for his life. He grew up on the island, hunted dragons, killed hundreds, gained fame, married a nice village girl, took up his place as chieftain, bossed around a village, continued to slay dragons, and eventually became a father. All very traditional and expected.

The last thing threw him for a few loops, though he understood that was the way of things.

After a few stressful days dealing with what the midwife thought was a rather early birth and the possibility of death or necessary exposure the infant gained enough health and strength to show off a set of mighty lungs. It was those lungs that caused more stress with the incessant screaming.

Fortunately, as the next few months passed the screaming lessened and the baby they had called Hiccup began to show a happier personality complete with smiles and it seemed to Stoick that having a baby around the house could actually be fun.

Eventual mobility was a little more interesting. Crawling and creeping were exciting stages, as Stoick soon discovered Hiccup was incapable of staying in one spot for more than a few moments. No matter how many toy weapons Stoick carved up for Hiccup despite how stupid his wife said they were Hiccup would chew on one for a second, throw it on the ground, and crawl after something else entirely.

It only became worse when the walking started. Soon after that Hiccup figured out how to work around simple latches and bolts. The entire village was on constant watch for the escaped toddler.

Still, he heard stories from the other fathers. Worse stories, even. So yes, even those moments of excitement were predictable in the scheme of life. And it could not be said that Stoick the Vast disliked fatherhood but rather was completely infatuated with his child and certainly qualified in what little of the childrearing the father actually had to do.

So yes, life was something Stoick could understand.

Until the year Hiccup turned five. Spring came later than usual and brought with it too much rain that sent a quarter of the village into chills. It was a terrible season with too many deaths with his wife's somewhere in the middle of that count.

That wasn't expected, and was plenty hard. Stoick wasn't what one would call an emotional man, but he had shut himself up for a few days after that. Apparently he wasn't good at dealing with heartbreak.

Or at knowing what to do with a hyperactive five-year-old who missed his mother.

Or knowing what to do with a kid at all.

_To be Continued…_


	2. Breakfast

**Breakfast**

Mornings had become hard. Misery could be more or less blocked during sleep, but it would always return full force the moments Stoick's eyes opened. He had always been a morning person, but that instant wakefulness was now a burden. He sighed deeply and sat up, mentally marking down all that needed to be done that day. A week had passed since Valhalarama had died, but it seemed the sickness was finally winding down. The past few days had been a string of funerals for who Stoick hoped would be the last victims. Gloom darker than the rainclouds hung over the village.

Bad things happened, Stoick told himself. Bad things happened sometimes, but they all pretty much went away eventually. He pulled on his cloak and looked over at the small form huddled under the covers. Hiccup had insisted on sleeping in the same bed and Stoick couldn't think of a reason against it, especially after Hiccup's reason that the pillow "smells like Mommy." So Hiccup's bed still sat untouched on the other side of the room, blankets still in disarray. One of these nights Stoick would have to send him back there. Stoick pulled back the cover, and Hiccup uncurled, rubbing his eyes.

"Time to get up," Stoick said gruffly.

"But I wanna sleep," Hiccup replied with an overly dramatic yawn.

Stoick knew enough that Hiccup was usually up by sunrise like everyone else. "I said it's time to get up." He scooped up the boy with one arm and set him on the ground. "Let's go."

Hiccup yawned again, but was not good enough to hide the fact he really was awake. He shuffled towards the stairs.

Odin, but the kid could be slow when he wanted. Stoick sighed and picked him up, realizing only too late it was probably what Hiccup had wanted, then headed down the stairs.

The place was a mess. He hadn't really done anything in the room, and yet the place looked like a dragon had blown right through it. Hiccup's toys were scattered everywhere, chairs had somehow moved to the most random spots, and half the weapons and shields were off their display. He shook his head, wondering how that would happen. He set Hiccup down. "Pick up your toys."

Hiccup immediately went to one of Stoick's swords.

"Toys, Hiccup!" Stoick shouted, grabbing the sword before Hiccup could get to it. The last thing he needed was the boy bleeding everywhere. Hiccup could probably escape a dungeon at this point but still didn't quite get the whole don't-grab-the-sharp-edge concept.

Hiccup distinctly rolled his eyes, but moved his attention to picking up his toys. "Daddy, when's breakfast?"

Breakfast. Stoick paused, letting the idea roll over him. That had not been on his list of things to do for the day, but probably wouldn't be a bad thing. Hiccup needed breakfast, at any rate, considering it was the first time in a week Hiccup had asked about food. Stoick couldn't really remember if he had been feeding Hiccup or not. He was fairly sure Hiccup had to have been eating something. Oh, yes, he had, pieces of whatever little things Stoick had found himself eating. Food members of the village brought over. The memories were vague, but he was pretty sure food had been in there somewhere. Did that count as feeding Hiccup?"

"You're hungry?" he asked.

Hiccup nodded as he fiddled with a shield.

"All right. Breakfast." He closed his eyes for a moment. He could fix breakfast. What did Hiccup usually have for his breakfast? Some grainy mash or something. Disgusting. Oh, well. The grain was kept in a basket in the corner. Stoick went to the hearth to raise the heat, then searched for a pot.

He found one, hidden under the staircase. It didn't look like it had been washed, but oh well. Still useful. He threw a handful of wheat into it and hung it over the coals. He couldn't shake the feeling something was missing from the process. It was only when smoke began rising from the pot that he realized water might be necessary for a mash.

He swore, causing Hiccup to stare up in amazement, and marched over to the water jug. It had been days since it had been filled, but a little bit still sat at the bottom. How stale would it be? He took the jug and dumped the remaining water into the pot. Now he would have to add going to the spring on his list of things to do. Steam hissed up as half the water missed the pot. At least there would be breakfast.

Except a few minutes later the breakfast result looked less than desired. He swore again, this time silently, and quickly stirred it up. There. That made it look better. More… mash-like. "Hiccup, breakfast," he called.

Hiccup sat down at the table, and Stoick set the pot in front of him.

And of course Hiccup had to wrinkle up his nose. "You burned it."

"No, that's just how it looks when I make it."

"It tastes fine," Stoick said as he sat down across from his son. "Probably."

Hiccup poked the spoon into it and took a small taste. "It's burned."

"Only some of it."

"And it's not done. It's burned and not done at the same time."

"Just eat it!"

"Mommy put berries in it."

"We don't have any berries."

Another five-year-old eye rolling. At least Hiccup took another spoonful.

Stoick was apparently going to have to learn how to cook beyond roasting something in a fire. But at least Hiccup was eating something. Somewhat satisfied, he studied the room for what he needed to do with it.

He noticed that Hiccup's toys had merely been pushed into a pile and partially hidden under a shield. He sighed.

"Can I have a drink of water?" Hiccup asked.


	3. Responsibility

"Is it really appropriate for a kid to be in here?"

Stoick had years before perfected the Glare: that steady and steely gaze that every leader should perform. It kept him as a chief with all the respect that position required, and usually it was enough to silence all but the most persistent questioners.

He used the Glare now.

The woman's face flushed slightly. Though women were a small minority of the warriors, when they existed they were fierce and this particular woman was no exception. And she was not backing down.

"I'm sorry, Stoick," she continued. "But… listen to the conversation! You're discussing the best way to disembowel dragons. Should a six-year-old be listening to this?

The rest of the gathered crowd turned their eyes to Stoick. The meeting of fighters in the Hall was a serious and glorious matter.

Stoick automatically glanced at Hiccup. The boy didn't seem to be listening to dragon anything. He was thankfully where Stoick had left him: in the corner practicing writing his runes. That was miraculous alone. Stoick had half-expected to see him trying to climb something.

"It would be good for him to listen," Stoick replied proudly. "He's my son! He has the makings of a great dragon slayer." Indeed, already at the age of six Hiccup became very excited at the mere mention of dragons and still could not be kept away from sharp weapons. "He needs to know this stuff."

"I just don't think the conversation here is appropriate for young ears."

Women. All they had done was compare ways to kill the awful beasts. "And what would you do with him?"

"Not bring him here." And with that she returned the Glare back to him.

What else was there to do with Hiccup? The question tormented Stoick hours and projects later as he returned home. The sun was finishing setting, and the entire village darkened under the shadows. It was a proud sight. There hadn't been a dragon attack in weeks, and for once the village looked as peaceful as it should. But he couldn't enjoy it. A simple question was driving him nuts.

Hiccup was six. A smart six-year-old, a promising six-year-old. But still six. He could do chores, albeit ones that didn't require lifting. But Berk children weren't even allowed outside during a dragon raid until they were twelve, and that was merely to act as callers –as if anyone would not notice a dragon raid. There just wasn't much to be done with a six-year-old. Hiccup was usually fine to be left alone for anything under a fifteen minute time frame.

But Stoick was the chief. That meant he was busy and tended to be gone for intervals longer than fifteen minutes. Maybe in another year or so he'd trust Hiccup to be alone. But for now, what else was he supposed to do with a boy than bring him with him?

There was the option of asking the mother of another child to watch him. Hiccup was a nice kid and seemed to be liked well enough by the other children. But then Stoick would think of the chaos that surrounded Hiccup. A day did not pass without Stoick hearing something shatter or collapse followed by an "oops". Stoick wasn't cruel enough to pass that on to anyone else.

Besides, Hiccup didn't get in the way. Usually. Today was a perfect example. He had sat where he had been told to sit for once and had stayed there. So sometimes he ran off. So there had been that one time down at the docks where Hiccup had actually fallen in and nearly drowned after bending down to try and feed the fish. One time, when checking on the sheep, Hiccup had scared the animals and proved to the village that a sheep stampede could truly be a terrifying thing.

Well, Stoick still felt listening to the dragon talk was good for Hiccup. And some of his more involved duties could wait until after Hiccup went to bed.

Still… maybe they did have a point. No one else brought their children around with them. Stoick watched Hiccup bounce on ahead, waving a stick like a sword.

Maybe Hiccup could be left on his own. If he had something to do. Responsibility. And Stoick could check on him occasionally.

As soon was Hiccup was fast asleep, Stoick headed out to look for a responsibility for Hiccup.

Stoick couldn't help but smile the next morning when Hiccup discovered the kitten curled up on his bed. Amazing how much thrill the boy could get out of a little piece of fluff.

Hopefully it would do the trick. He had discovered a woman whose cat had recently had a litter and the kittens were starting to fend for themselves. And who didn't get mice occasionally?

"He's your responsibility, Hiccup," Stoick said. "You'll have to take care of him, and feed, and watch him."

"But aren't I going with you?" Hiccup's voice filled with concern. "Who will watch him during the day?"

"You won't be going with me today. You'll be here, watching the cat."

"Cool!" Hiccup seemed plenty proud of that responsibility.

It had worked, Stoick thought as he left the house without Hiccup. No Hiccup to keep out of trouble because Hiccup would be too busy with the kitten. It was perfect. He would pop in every few hours, and all would be well.

And all was well. For about an hour.

Then, as he was supervising a new ship, someone said "Stoick, is that smoke coming from your house?"

And so it was. The house in flames, not a dragon in sight. With a scream aimed mostly at himself he ran up the hill.

Hiccup and the kitten were both fine, thank goodness.

But apparently, the kitten's food had needed to be warmed up.

* * *

_In the books, there is indeed a cat. I just felt like doing something with that, figuring it would give insight into Hiccup's "way with the beasts"._


	4. Bathtime

Despite his original aversion of passing Hiccup off to anyone else, Hiccup torching the house did have its effect on Stoick's mind. He couldn't be distracted with the boy during the day, and he needed his mind at ease. So in full chief mode he approached his brother's wife and commanded and begged her to watch Hiccup during the day. She agreed, with an air as if she felt he needed all the help he could get.

Hiccup's cousin Snotlout was only about a year older and seemed to Stoick the perfect playmate. Perhaps more bark than bite, but that could be said about most hopeful future warriors of that age. He was strong, tough, and ferocious—perfect examples for Hiccup, who was still rather scrawny for his age. Well, he would grow out of that soon enough.

The system worked perfectly for the dryer and less cold summer months. Hiccup had a playmate, Stoick did not need to worry, and Fiddlesticks the cat enjoyed nice cold food without the threat of a burning building. Life settled once more into peaceful predictability.

But with autumn came the rains and the frost. Nothing major, at least major by Viking standards. Unless the snow blocking the door bested one's strength it was merely a fluffy snowfall. A little rain, a little frost, a little sleet, nothing of concern. It was gone with a warm afternoon and left nothing but mildly irritating mud that could not hide itself from children.

"But Daddy, he pushed me!" was Hiccup's protest, as if the boy could have done nothing to defend himself and had to resort to standing in the middle of the house at the end of a trail of mud.

"You're supposed to hold your ground, Hiccup. If Snotlout pushes you, you push back. It's as simple as that."

"But Snotlout is bigger."

"Doesn't matter. You still stand up for yourself." Stoick checked the temperature of the water he had been heating over the fire. Just hot enough without being too hot. Not like that other time. He pulled the pot from the hook and poured the water into the wooden tub he had dragged out.

Hiccup's eyes, the only thing visible on his muddy face, went wide. "Do I really have to take a bath?"

Stoick grunted in reply. Wasn't the answer obvious?

Hiccup sighed. He had such an annoying sigh. Drama. "So Snotlout pushes me in the mud when I didn't want to be pushed in the mud, and I have to pay for it?"

What was it with the anti-cleanliness of children? Categorized as barbarians by those to the south, Vikings still maintained the pride of hygiene. "Hiccup, you're getting in the tub."

Hiccup folded his grubby arms over his grubby chest. "I don't want to. I hate baths!"

"You're filthy."

"I'm muddy, Daddy. That' s different from filth."

"Get in the tub now."

"No."

"No" was a word with which Stoick did not put up and that fact was not unknown to Hiccup. Even as he said the word his voice shook. Stoick stared hard at his son. "What did you say?"

"No?" Hiccup's voice was tiny. His arms untwisted from their protesting fold and dropped dutifully to his sides. And yet the kid was still being obnoxious.

"Do you say no to me when I ask you to do something?"

"No. Sir."

Good. Stoick did not drop the austerity. "So, Hiccup, what did I ask you to do?"

A nice, properly frightened deep breath. "You didn't ask me to anything."

Stoick narrowed his eyes. Was the attitude supposed to come this early? He had developed the Voice for rule, instructions to keep Hiccup out of trouble, and Hiccup only responded with an attitude. A lot of attitude for a small boy not even seven.

Hiccup gulped. "You told me to get in the tub."

"So do it."

"But I don't like baths!"

"I don't care."

"I like being dirty! Snotlout can push me in the mud anytime he wants."

Without another word Stoick marched over to Hiccup and pulled the shirt from his muddy little body.

"I don't want a bath! Baths are stupid!"

"I gave you an instruction, Hiccup. Are you to follow my instructions?"

"Yes," Hiccup said miserably.

"All the time?"

"Yes." A resentful sniffle was added.

"So what are you going to do now?"

"Get in the tub." Hiccup's voice was nearly inaudible. He slowly made his way to the tub and stripped off the rest of his clothes. "Baths are stupid. Tuffnut says he doesn't have to take baths."

"I'm sure he does." Stoick rubbed his head. At least he wasn't arguing. He didn't think he was arguing. A good parent wasn't supposed to argue.

Hiccup climbed into the tub with a splash. Immediately the water took on the color of mud. "Okay, I'm clean! Can I get out?"

Stoick tossed him the bar of soap. "When you're really clean."

"When's that?"

"You know."

"But—"

Stoick went upstairs. He was not going to argue.

* * *

_I already have a bunch of scenarios in mind, but is there anything in particular anyone wants to see? _


	5. Apologies

_Quite a few people requested a scene where little Hiccup meets little Astrid. Now the way I envision the village would put Hiccup and Astrid knowing each other from the time they could be aware of others, so I couldn't very well have Astrid randomly move in._

_But I loved the idea of an Astrid/Hiccup first and as I'm going to keep all stories chronological, I had to get it in before Hiccup got too old._

_So I did a tweak on that theme and I hope you all enjoy it._

* * *

"You're grounded." Those were two words Stoick seemed to be saying a little too often lately. He stood in the door frame, arms crossed, staring at Hiccup who otherwise would be making a break for it.

Hiccup rolled is eyes and sighed. "She started it!"

Stoick shook his head. Hiccup always had a story, always had an excuse, and Stoick was in no mood to find other one. He had not been pleased to have one of his finest warriors show up in a fury because his little daughter was crying. "I don't care who started it. What you did was unacceptable."

"You're the one always saying I need to stand up for myself."

Seven-year-olds heard more than Stoick gave them credit for. "Not against a girl."

"But—"

"Hiccup, I heard what you did. You pushed Astrid down. You made her bleed."

Hiccup flung himself on his bed. "Not that much. And she started it. Girls always cry. A girl can do whatever she wants and a boy can't get upset, but girls can cry over anything and everyone goes crazy over them."

"That's how girls are. It may not seem fair, but that's how it is." Valhallarama had always joked women were superior.

"So what is fair? How do the rules work?"

Stoick had no idea. "Hiccup, the thing is, you do not hit girls. No matter what they do or what they are like. I don't care how strong or mean they are, you do not hit or push or shove girls."

"But—"

"No."

"But she kissed me!" Hiccup's tongue remained out after the last word, as if he were trying to rid himself of the experience.

In that moment all the punishment left Stoick, and he fought back a smile. "Astrid did what?"

"She kissed me. It was so gross. Right on the lips. Disgusting."

There was no hiding back a smile. "She kissed you?"

"Yeah! She and Ruff were playing some girly game and then they called me over because they said they found a dragon claw but instead she kissed me and now I'm going to die of cooties."

The idea of that little blonde girl kissing his son was almost too much for Stoick. He would probably have to leave and go laugh over this. "And that's why you pushed her down."

"Yes. And I'm not saying sorry."

As amusing as it was, Hiccup was definitely going to have to apologize. "So you didn't like being kissed?"

"Kissing is gross and so is Astrid," Hiccup affirmed.

"You're still going to apologize."

"But I don't want to."

"I told you, no matter what a girl does, you have to be nice. You'll be apologizing."

Hiccup rolled over, face down in the bed, and mumbled something into the covers.

"Hiccup. Now."

Slowly, with obvious misery, Hiccup stood up and went slowly downstairs.

He returned fifteen minutes later, slipping quietly in through the door.

Stoick's back was turned, but his ears were good. "Did you apologize?"

"Uh-huh." Hiccup's voice was very quiet.

Stoick turned to see Hiccup quickly turn his head. "Did anything else happen?"

Pause. "No. I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

Something wasn't right. "Hiccup, look at me."

Hiccup slowly turned his head to reveal a black eye.

"Son, what happened?"

"Astrid. Right after I apologized."

"How did you apologize?"

Hiccup sighed. "I said I was sorry for pushing her. And that her breath smelled."

The boy had a lot to learn.


	6. Cleaning

_This was based on an idea by avatarmirai that absolutely charmed me and also fit my goal of making things work toward the movie._

* * *

Stoick had never claimed to be the greatest of housekeepers. It had never been a duty that had ever struck him as anything he would need to be concerned about, though he felt he had put forth a decent effort during the past few years. He didn't spend all the much time in the house and neither did Hiccup, for that matter, but Hiccup managed to make messes wherever possible. Such a capability was almost impressive, and Stoick hoped it was an early sign of battlefield chaos tendencies. He hoped. He had set up a sturdy, no-nonsense set of instructions for Hiccup for anything he might take a notion to do and had so far covered most things. The trick was to get Hiccup to remember to pick up his toys when he was done playing with them, to scrape his food dishes clean without breaking them in the process, to finish something all the way before skipping off to something else. If these rules did nothing else, they at least reminded Stoick that the place should look better than it so often did.

So between the two of them, Stoick could at least pretend he knew something of keeping a house together in a neat and orderly fashion. The place was becoming almost… domestic. In the barest sense of the word, of course.

Until one day when Hiccup dropped something that was still unidentified into the flames, sending a raging storm of soot rivaling a volcano explosion through the roof's smoke hole and over the entire village.

Hiccup had sworn up and down it wasn't his fault. "It was a troll!" had been his main claim. "A troll made that happen!"

Hiccup was a great one for excuses.

Stoick had paced up and down the main room after spending a good hour listening to shrieks of dismay and complaints about the layer of blackness that covered everything, shaking his head and wondering where in the world Hiccup had gotten the idea of a troll. "Was it really a troll?"

Hiccup rose to his full height, which still wasn't much, and tried to look Stoick in the eye as Stoick expected of him when he was being spoken to. "It could have been invisible…"

Stoick blew out the breath he had been holding. "Hiccup, don't you dare lie to me." He knew Hiccup would never intentionally lie, but he had beat these wild stories out of him somehow and a warrior who was a liar would never do anyone any good and would only wind up a hazard in battle.

Hiccup's eyes were doing that thing they did when they wanted to wander to something more interesting, but to the boy's credit he managed to keep them on Stoick. Perhaps he was in this case the most interesting thing in the room. "I won't. Sir."

"Was it really a troll?"

Hiccup shook his head and scuffed one foot against the ground. "No, sir."

"Then why did you tell me it was a troll that made that explosion and that mess?"

There was a pause as Hiccup took a moment to scrunch up his face in thought. "Well, I was pretending there was a troll in the room and I had to stop him from eating the cat and destroying the village and—"

Stoick held up a hand. "Never mind. So you put… something… in the fire. To stop this pretend troll?"

"No. That was for—"

What went on this boy's head? "There's still a huge mess. A huge mess."

"I know, Daddy. I saw. It went everywhere!" He spread his arms out wide.

"And why did it make that mess?" Ah. Something good out of this. A perfect teaching opportunity for responsibility.

"Because you never clean out the fire pit?"

It was frustrating to have no response to that. Stoick stared at his son, who now seemed to be drawing some sort of pattern on the floor with his foot. Okay, that had been a teaching moment failure. He took a deep breath and tried to think of the last time he had bothered to do anything about the fire pit. He had never considered it much of a concern, but… all right, so maybe the disaster was his own fault.

"Can I play outside now?" Hiccup asked.

"No. You still put… something in the fire." Another teaching moment of responsibility. Cleaning. "You'll be cleaning out the hearth!"

"Cool!" was Hiccup's wide-eyed response.

"Glad you think so," Stoick muttered as he rubbed his head.

"Won't I get burned?"

Probably, knowing Hiccup, but Stoick didn't say that aloud. "Just… be careful and I'm sure you'll be fine." Stoick had a sudden mental image of caring for burns that he was sure was going to come true. "Take the broom and sweep it out the ashes and soot. I have things to do. I'll be back."

"What if the broom catches on fire?"

Stoick ignored that and left the house. So many other things to get done.

Though he did have to admit the idea of the broom catching flames did stick on his mind, and every so often he looked up the hill toward the house listing for screams of pain. Thank Odin none ever came.

It was an hour before he returned. An hour was a good time to clean. Stoick would probably enter the house to find the hearth clean and Hiccup having completed five other activities since.

The house was ten times worse.

Barely had he opened the door when Fiddlesticks the cat streaked out of it, his fur oddly black. Stoick stared after the animal for a few moments, then forced himself to look into his home.

Soot and ashes were everywhere. Stripes of it lined the walls, the floor, the table, the stairs. No, not just stripes. Circles, curvy lines, everything.

"Hiccup!" he shouted.

Hiccup's head poked up from the behind the table. His hair was all but black and his face was covered. Looked like another fight over a bath tonight. "What?"

Stoick took a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm himself. "What? You answer me with what? I thought I told you to clean the fire pit!"

Hiccup nodded. "I did."

"This is not cleaning the fire pit."

"But it is clean! See?" He pointed at the fire pit. Indeed, it shown like new.

"I just didn't know what to with everything," Hiccup went on as he rubbed his nose, spreading the mess.

"So you put it… everywhere."

Hiccup didn't seem to hear. "Did you know that you can draw with this?"

Stoick took another deep breath and moved around the table. A white spread of ashes took up the floor, and in it Hiccup had sketched with his finger something that looked remarkably like a dragon.

It was pretty good.

But he didn't have time to think about that. "Hiccup, the walls?"

"Oh. Those. I was trying to draw something big, but it didn't work."

Clearly. "You'll be cleaning that up."

Hiccup looked up from his drawing. "With what?"

Stoick had another mental image, this time of Hiccup flooding the house.


	7. Changes

It had not been two weeks since Hiccup's eighth birthday when something changed. Now there was nothing wrong with change when it was for improvement and Stoick was just fine with that. Still, while he accepted change's place in the universe, he had never been terribly fond of it. Change too often brought problems.

Granted, he had been waiting for changes from Hiccup. Another growth spurt, a day without something going wrong, a moment when he would listen without staring off into space or picking something off the ground. Stoick had seen the other children around Hiccup's age. They all seemed so much more… with it. Not that Stoick would even dream of trading his Hiccup for any of them. Hiccup was probably smarter than all of those boys combined. But sometimes Stoick grew impatient for Hiccup to just hurry up and act like a Viking. Even Viking children had expectations to meet.

But he didn't like this change.

It was sunset. Stoick had barely arrived home and settled into his chair. Some days being chief could be so exhausting. There were some real idiots in the village, and that was saying something for Vikings. Still, he would let that go and wait for Hiccup to get home. The boy knew he was supposed to be home from playing at sunset and got that right most of the time.

Sure enough, the sun was half-way down into the ocean when Hiccup burst through the door, face red and body dusted with snow. "Hi, Dad."

Stoick stared after him as he pulled out his notebook. Stoick had taught him to bind books to avoid him drawing on the floor again and it seemed to be doing the trick. What had he just said?

Hiccup noticed him staring. "What?"

"What did you say when you came in?"

Hiccup looked confused and a little worried. "Hi, Dad?" 

"Oh." Stoick nodded and sunk back into his chair. It was like a punch to the gut. So he was now suddenly Dad? When had that happened? Maybe it was a fluke. "So what did you do today?"

Hiccup shrugged, not taking his eyes off his current drawing. "Not much. Played down by the docks. And I didn't fall in once. Dad, someone caught this huge fish! It was like this big!" He stretched out his arms.

But Stoick didn't pay attention to that. There it had been again. Dad. Not Daddy. Dad. Of course, it was only natural that the name would eventually change. Was it supposed to bother him this much? He was a Viking. He was not supposed to have any attachment to whatever name his child gave him. It did not matter as long as his child obeyed and respected him. He had to shrug it off. That was what he was supposed to do. That was what any other Viking father would do.

But a few hours later, as Hiccup was going to bed, there it was again in a casual "'Night, Dad."

It stung in a way Stoick could not put his finger on.

What did it mean? he thought as he tried to fall asleep. He was usually not given to this much thought. Hiccup was eight, after all, and terms changed. He obviously could not be saying "Daddy" forever. It was a sign of maturity, of growing up, of observing the patterns of adults. Perhaps it was even a sign of growing respect. Stoick was silly for worrying about it like this. Why should the mere drop of a syllable bother him?

Stoick had barely shut his eyes when a crash and a boom sounded outside. He sat up, wide awake.

Dragons.

"Dad?" Hiccup called sleepily from his bed.

That word again. What a weird word. But now was definitely not the time to be bothered by it. "Stay in the house, Hiccup. If you here anything too close to the house, hide under the stairs behind the water jug."

Hiccup nodded, and Stoick tore down the stairs.

The dragons were everywhere. Dozens. One of the biggest groups he had ever seen. The sheep were shrieking in the fields and his warriors were running everywhere, weapons drawn and discussions about catapults already on their lips. Maybe they were not such idiots after all.

Stoick stood a moment, taking in the sight and planning in his mind. Nothing he saw seemed too horrible yet. Mainly Nadders and Gronckles and anyone lunkhead could deal with a few of those. Instinctively his gaze went to the sky in search of the telltale sign of a Nightfury. That was the big threat here. A Nightmare could be brought down, but a Nightfury could take out the entire village if it so desired. He breathed deeply, then raced down the hill to join his men.

They were prepared, thank Odin. Recent repairs had been made to all the defense towers, and a new slingshot tower had been constructed with great pride.

"Hoist the braziers!" he called out to anyone who would listen.

The command went fast. In moments the flaming braziers rose into the sky as a chunk of burning wood was flung from a catapult, effectively striking a Zippleback.

Stoick gripped his own axe tightly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the sheep already being herded together and driven toward their cave by a few of the older boys. Good.

Then of course some house had to burst into flame. He sighed, lifted his axe, and went toward a Gronckle already bothering goats. Nothing like sinking a blade into the flesh of a dragon. A beautiful feeling.

"Let that serve as a warning to your friends," he muttered before turning away.

The sky was filled with projectiles from the catapults and slingshots, not to mention the action on the ground, the warrior screams, the sound of blades, the snarls of dragons.

But they were leaving, sure enough. No big bullies like Nightmares to keep them safe. This was a big bunch, but they could chase them off sure enough. All sections of the village were guarded, all towers manned, every able warrior giving his all.

Then it came. A silvery blue blast from the sky swirling in like wind and igniting the entire dock. Nightfury.

Fantastic.

But the blast, as awful as it was, was followed by something even worse. A too familiar scream.

No. It couldn't be. Hiccup was supposed to be back in the house, safe and sound… He didn't accept that logic, but broke into a run. Already others were there, saying stuff about how the boy came out of nowhere onto the docks and something else and something else.

There wasn't much left of them. Stoick didn't look to see if the ships were touched. He dropped onto the sturdiest piece of wood not yet on fire. "Hiccup!"

"Dad!" Hiccup was near the lower docks, curled up in a ball away from the approaching flames, fingers digging into the side of the hill. But the slope was too great. The wood would burn through all too quickly sending Hiccup plunging into the freezing winter ocean.

Stoick leaped down to the next level. The flames were so close. He could feel them licking his skin. How stable could this thing be? He quickly looked for sturdy looking platforms. There was not much to pick from. He jumped down, feeling the remains of the dock shake under his weight, then turned to Hiccup.

The fire was right between them. Not yet high, just focusing on eating away the dock. He could get over it. Probably.

Hiccup's eyes were wide with fright.

Stoick jumped past the flames and grabbed Hiccup's arm. Then he dug his own fingers into the side of the hill. It was slippery with melted snow, but a few more pushes up and he could reach out and grab something stable…

It seemed an eternity later before someone was pulling Hiccup from him and he was back on solid ground. "How'd we do?" he demanded.

"A few stubborn Gronckles left, but the rest are gone and not another sight of the Nightfury."

"Any sheep lost?"

"None."

Good. There hadn't been many lambs the past year and they couldn't afford to lose even one sheep.

Hiccup stood sniffling, Phlegma the Fierce's arm around his shoulders. "Dad, I'm sorry."

Never had Stoick been so glad to hear the word "Dad". But the kid had nearly gotten himself killed. "What were you thinking?" he shouted, pulling him aside.

"I wanted to see the dragons! I thought if I could see a Nightfury I could be the first to draw one and—"

"Hiccup, I told you to stay in the house!"

"I forgot!" The boy was on the verge of real tears now. "I got so excited."

"You knew you were supposed to stay in the house! You can't say you forgot!"

"I just wanted to see the dragons."

Any other curious kid would have stayed near his house. Hiccup had to run all the way to the shore. Stoick grabbed his hand and yanked him along. He felt ready to scream all over again. Did Hiccup have no idea of how easily he could have died in that situation?

Back at the house, he made sure Hiccup was in bed and promising to stay there while he went to check on the rest of the village.

He had never been so mad at Hiccup. But at least he no longer felt bothered by this new "Dad" term.

At least he was around to say it.


	8. Burns

"Gobber, what did you do to him?" Stoick pulled Hiccup into his house faster than the boy could walk and all but threw him into a chair. From the mild look on Hiccup's face he was taking the situation fairly in stride but the red splotches peaking from behind the bandages on his hands and arms told a different story.

"I told him to fetch me a hammer," Gobber replied with a roll of eyes as he hobbled into the house after Hiccup. "I guess it was too heavy for him and he fell. Caught himself, tripped into a stool which fell against the fire and the next thing I knew sparks were everywhere."

"Look at this hands, Gobber." Stoick had never shouted at Gobber, never had a reason to. Gobber had been a great warrior in his time and still could hold his own, for that matter and Stoick could never ask for a better and more loyal friend. But the shouting was just itching in his throat to get out. He pulled the bandages from Hiccup's arms, who squirmed but otherwise didn't resist.

"I did. Who do you think had to soak the bandages and try to get them around his arms with only one hand?"

"So sparks just flew on him?"

"Actually, they didn't touch him until he went to pick up the hammer he had dropped in the fire."

"Really stupid mistake," Hiccup said. "I didn't think it would be so hot."

"Extremely stupid," Gobber said. "Didn't we go through the whole listening thing? As in "Hiccup, ignore the hammer for a minute and I'll get it?" Could have saved you a lot of grief."

"Sorry." Hiccup winced as Stoick removed the last bandage. "Dad, you're supposed to leave them on."

Stoick didn't reply. He barely heard. All he had in his mind was this image of Hiccup tripping into all the fires that went on in that awful forge and maybe impaling himself on a weapon. Hiccup wasn't known for being graceful and maybe his thoughts that Hiccup's mind would be put to good use as a blacksmith were the results of too much mead. Eight years old was too young for that sort of thing. Despite being a common age for beginning an apprenticeship. But for Hiccup it was too young. And here Hiccup was, back from his first day with burnt hands while Gobber acted like it was no big deal.

"Weren't you watching him, Gobber?" he demanded.

"Yeah." Like he was discussing the weather. "Saw the whole thing. Kind of funny, actually. At least, we'll all laugh about it later."

The skin was bright red with blisters here and there. A small part of his mind whispered it was nothing, no big deal, that the burns would certainly pain Hiccup for a few days but would heal completely with those few days and a good poultice, that there was no reason that Hiccup should return to Gobber's very soon. As it was, he could probably return immediately and practice listening to the rules and the ways of the forge without touching anything for the time being. Learning could still be done. But all Stoick saw when he looked at Hiccup's hands was every horrible injury he had ever seen on a man.

"No," he said. "No one is going to be laughing about it later. Couldn't you have been more careful with him? Asking him to get a hammer? On his first day with you?"

Gobber gave a small laugh. "Oh, come on. He was getting a hammer. I could ask any kid in the village to do the same thing. Hiccup is perfectly capable of getting a hammer. He'll just have to get used to carrying the heavier ones."

Okay, so the argument sounded ridiculous, but Stoick wasn't going to admit it. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. What are you going to have him do next time? Melt down steel?"

"I was going to save that for the third day, actually." Gobber laughed again. "All right, so you're not finding that funny."

"Not at all." He began to rewrap the burns, so tightly Hiccup tried to yank his hands back.

"Dad, that hurts!"

"He's done with forge," Stoick said.

"Stoick, you can't be serious."

"But I want to!" Hiccup said. "It's fun! And Fishlegs has been helping build houses and make stuff for like forever! Everyone else gets to do something!"

"He's right," said Gobber. "Most of the boys his age are doing something. Do you want to keep him home like a girl?"

Hiccup made a face. "Girls are stupid. I'm not a girl, Dad."

"Hiccup, I know that, but I'm the one talking to Gobber right now." Stoick stood up from Hiccup. "Don't interrupt." He turned to Stoick. "Stoick, he's my son. I get to say what goes for him."

Gobber shrugged. "Never said you don't. If you want to take him out of the forge, fine by me."

"Good."

"But he really had a good time today. I mean, until the burn. I think he'd be great at it. He has the mind for it. He can already draw, so I won't have to teach him that."

Stoick didn't want to hear this. "There's plenty of other stuff he would be great at as well."

"Dad, I did have fun—"

Stoick glared back at Hiccup, and the boy went silent.

"And you're probably right about that," said Gobber. "Though I wouldn't want to see him trying to balance on some roof. So he got burned today. It's a mild burn, only a few blisters. He'll be fine in a day or so. And every blacksmith gets burned now and then."

Stoick sighed and rubbed his head. "Not a good argument to make."

"But it's true. He's around fire, hot metal, he's going to get burned eventually. And if apprenticed him to a carpenter, he'd probably pound himself or get a splinter or fall off a roof. I'm sure you've noticed he's kind of clumsy."

"He's going to fight dragons, Gobber. He'll be chief someday."

"Odin help us there." Gobber shook his head, grinning. "I'm just saying you've been a little… protective with him lately. And that fighting dragons is probably more dangerous than being a blacksmith. I'm a living proof of that."

"Hiccup will be great at it." Though now all Stoick could think about was Hiccup being eaten by a dragon.

"Well, let him do this until then. He can't do much with burnt hands, so he's bound to stay safe for a few more days. It's not like I'll ever let anything really bad happen to him."

Hiccup looked up at him pleadingly.

Gobber was right. Stoick hated it when Gobber was right. "Fine. Just… make sure he's more careful."

Better those burns than dragon fire burns.


	9. Deals

It was, admittedly, a new notion in parenting, one on which the success depended on the relationship between parent and child rather than on the ability of the child to follow directions. Stoick was the chief, and as chief he saw no reason to consider the opinions and thoughts of anyone else. He was responsible and protective, and as of yet the village had not crumbled into oblivion. And this was all due to Stoick giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed without question. It was a good system that had not failed yet.

The idea of giving Hiccup any choice in a decision set off all warning bells in his head. But then again, as of the present, Hiccup had never got the concept of following instructions like everyone else in the village had done. And it wasn't good for the chief to be seen as unable to control his son.

So, in desperation, Stoick decided to approach the idea of striking a deal with the boy.

And Stoick did not make deals. Deals showed weakness, kindness, severe lack of power. Every ideal that was not Viking. So of course he told no one. If all went well, and all would go well, everyone in the village would see a boy that was finally capable of obeying orders. This new idea, the deal, would be prototyped in private, where no one could see. Stoick would improve upon it from there.

Fishing.

Hiccup's aversion to fishing was something Stoick would never get. Everyone in Berk liked fishing. It was fun, it was relaxing, it was a great time to take in the beauty of the island even though no one would ever admit to the last wussy thing despite the unspoken agreement it was true. But everytime Stoick mentioned it to Hiccup the boy would get the look on his face and sigh and mutter complaints under his breath and it was usually by physical force Stoick got him near the water. Once there Hiccup was incapable of holding the pole for the prescribed length of time it took to catch a fish and wound up throwing rocks at into the water or sometimes accidentally at people.

But today… today would be different.

Stoick decided to bring up "the deal" in the morning, before too much during the day gave Hiccup ideas for excuses. Hiccup was shoveling down his breakfast when Stoick spoke.

"We're going fishing today."

Hiccup stared. "What?"

The normal and expected response Hiccup would give. Stoick would not let it phase him. Now, just how did one go about making a deal? He would have to offer something to Hiccup, something on which they could both agree. "I promise that you'll get to fish as long as you want. We can spend the whole day fishing." There. What boy would not want to spend the whole day fishing? Even Hiccup would see wonder in that.

Hiccup continued to stare.

Stoick had never liked people staring. It made him uncomfortable. "What is it?"

"I'm supposed to go to the forge…"

"Not today," Stoick said. Curse that forge and Hiccup's newfound sense of responsibility. "Today we're going to go fishing instead."

"But I don't want to go fishing, Dad."

"Of course you do! You're going to like fishing." So far, this deal thing wasn't working. What was he doing wrong? Maybe he should offer something else. "We'll go out to the rocks, the ones you're not allowed to go to. Today, we'll go there to fish."

Hiccup's eyes went wide. "But what if I slip and fall?"

What sort of Viking asked that kind of question? Stoick rolled his eyes. "People rarely die from slipping on those rocks. Only a few a year. You'll be fine. It'll be fun."

"But what if it rains? Dad, I think a storm's coming in. With lightning."

Okay, so Hiccup was tough when it came to making deals. That was a good sign of dealing with people. This was good. Stoick could deal with it. "All right, then. I hear you. If there's too much lightning, we'll go fish somewhere else."

"I still don't want to go fishing!"

The boy drove a hard bargain. "If you go fishing, and you catch a fish, you can go swimming."

Hiccup nearly fell from his chair. "While there's lightning?"

"You can go swimming as long as you want."

"But it's still winter… it's freezing!"

"It's just a refreshing swim. I thought you liked swimming."

Hiccup was on his feet then, trying to stand up to every inch of tiny nine-year-old frame. "What if I get hit by an iceberg?"

So much for less excuses in the morning. But this had to work. Stoick had told dozens of people already that he and his son would be enjoying a nice father/son fishing trip that day. He could not back down. Though he could say Hiccup was sick… no, that was still backing down. "Hiccup, I'm trying to make a deal with you."

Hiccup wiped his nose on his sleeve. "These don't sound like deals."

Like the boy would even understand the thought that went into deal and treaties. Stoick took a deep breath. "Well, what do you want?"

"Dad, I don't want to go fishing today."

Hiccup really didn't understand how deals worked. Stoick shook his head. "Hiccup, that's not an option."

"Oh." Hiccup quieted in some measurement of obedience. "If I go fishing, what do I get?"

Uh oh. The deal-making was being used against Stoick. "I already told you. You can fish all day and go swimming."

"But I don't go fishing at all and I don't want to go swimming."

"But that's what we're going to be doing today, Hiccup. I already said so. I already told you it's not an option."

"Can the swimming be an option?"

Stoick just knew he was going to regret this whole deal idea. But… this was just talking. He could handle just talking. He closed his eyes a moment and took a deep breath. "Okay. What would you like to do instead of swimming? I'm not saying you'll get to do it, but I will ask you."

Hiccup didn't blink. "Troll hunting."

He should have known. After those twins had made up that story about a troll sneaking into people's rooms at night and eating their brains and underwear and drinking their bodily fluids killing trolls had captured the imagination of every child in the village. Stoick and the other adults were not sure if it were just a game or if the kids were serious. All he knew was that after Snotlout had thrown a knife into someone's leg while in the woods it was getting out of control. "No. No troll hunting."

"But what if a troll attacks us on the rocks?"

"He might slip and fall in the water and get by an iceberg," Stoick said dryly. "And then you can fish him out."

"That's not troll hunting. Trolls don't swim, Dad."

Like Hiccup could even know. "Are you serious about this troll business?"

Hiccup shrugged.

"Well, I still say no. You're going to go fishing, and there will be no troll hunting."

Hiccup groaned. "I thought we were going to make a deal."

"The deal is made. We're going fishing. All day."

"But—"

Stoick was not going to back down. He was going to make this deal idea work. It would work. He would pioneer this new concept of parenting. "Deal?"

Hiccup just sighed.

Stoick took the lack of response as an affirmative. "Good. Go get ready."

The boy shuffled off, muttering under his breath and stomping a little too loudly on the stairs.

On the way to the rocks, Stoick pretended not to notice the knife Hiccup was trying to hide. They had struck a deal. There would be no troll hunting.


	10. Accident

Stoick loved his son. Of course he did. Hiccup was a great kid. He may have the attention span of a sparrow and he wasn't all that big and he was a little too smart-mouthed for his own good, but all in all he was a great kid. And he had been good for two months. Two whole months! What other nine-year-old could behave for two months straight? But for two months Hiccup had been perfect. He had followed instructions, he had not experimented on the cat, he had worked hard at the forge and had not only listened to everything Gobber had said but had consciously applied it. He hadn't embarrassed Stoick in public. He had done every chore without complaining—he had even done the chores as Stoick had expected them to be done. Those two months had been the most relaxing two months of Stoick's life. His boy was finally growing up. His boy was getting it. He no longer had to live in fear of Hiccup burning the house down.

So when Stoick felt it crucial to investigate a little island a few stone skips' off for signs of dragon activity, he felt fine leaving Hiccup by himself. The journey was not even a journey. It was a quick trip that would take no more than a day—two at most. It had been several years since Stoick had been afraid to leave Hiccup by himself. In fact, it was becoming more and more common. And Hiccup could take care of himself. He was a very self-sufficient little boy, just as a Viking should be. Leaving a boy of that age and responsibility level for a night on his own would be offering an adventure, an exploration of independence.

Maybe Hiccup's past endeavors would have had most people saying to chain Hiccup up while Stoick was gone, but a track record of two perfect months? Hiccup had more than earned it.

And when he had gruffly told Hiccup that he would have the whole house to himself all night and possible the next day, Hiccup had been thrilled. And of course Stoick had laid down the rules. Hiccup had drawn himself to his full height and said he could follow those rules, that there would be no problem.

He said that with his eyes on Stoick's, no fidgeting, and no forming idea showing on his face.

It was one of the prouder moments of Stoick's life. Though he had shed a tear of that pride when he had left the house, Hiccup inside. Oh, Hiccup was going to be a great Viking someday.

The trip wound up lasting almost two days. Though it had been for nothing, the expedition of a few boats had managed the whole route within their anticipated time frame. There was some disappointment in returning to the dock, the same disappointment they all felt when these dragon hunts did not pan out, but what could they do?

Stoick marched up the hill, taking in the site of this peaceful village that he so much wanted to protect. Sheep dotted the hill, smoke curled from cooking fires, and a few young children's names were called to return inside before dark. At least nothing bad had occurred while he was gone.

He made it to the door and pushed it open. Hiccup would be done with the forge by now, though he could possibly still be playing somewhere.

A small fire crackled in the pit, the area tidy and the coals glowing happily. The main room was clean—perhaps even cleaner than when Stoick had left. Fiddlesticks the cat was curled up in Stoick's chair, purring in his sleep. And Hiccup sat quietly at the table, drawing in his book.

No sign of any disaster in sight. Stoick smiled to himself. Yes, it had been fine and even wise to leave Hiccup alone for a night. "Hello, Hiccup. I'm back."

Hiccup looked up from his book and smiled. That nice big Hiccup smile. "Hi Dad. Did you kill any dragons?"

Stoick hung up his axe. Oh, he would have loved some great dragon-killing story to bring back to tell Hiccup. "We found nothing."

Hiccup sounded genuinely disappointed. "Oh. Really?"

He slung up his helmet. It was good to be home, though it would have been more interesting after a more eventful trip. "Not a thing. Sorry to disappoint you. How was Berk?"

Hiccup shut his book. "Boring, too. No dragon attacks."

"Hiccup, that's a good thing. So nothing happened?"

Hiccup shook his head.

Stoick picked up the cat and sat down in his chair. Now of course something had to have happened. Obviously it would be nothing nearly as exciting as dragons, but was there nothing that happened over the past two days that interested a nine-year-old boy? "Oh, come on. Was there nothing you did?"

Another shake of the head. "It was all really ordinary, Dad. Except…" Hiccup took a deep breath.

Ah. Something had happened. An explanation for Hiccup's quietness. Here would be the interesting story. "What is it, son?"

Hiccup's gaze was down on the table. "Except something broke."

"Something broke." Okay. "What broke?"

"A jar," was the timid answer.

A jar. Stoick laughed. "What jar broke?"

Hiccup stood up. "I kept the pieces. It was a small jar. Nothing was in it." He made his way over to a corner and pulled out a cloth with a few shards of an unremarkable jar wrapped in it. "I'm really sorry."

Stoick laughed again. Maybe Hiccup had become too responsible over the past few months. Worrying so much over a tiny little jar. Such things breaking now and then was part of life. "Hiccup, it's just a jar. Not a big deal."

"Oh." Hiccup looked decidedly less upset. "So I'm not in trouble?"

"Why would you be in trouble?" Stoick tousled Hiccup's hair. "It's a jar. I'm not going to be mad at you for breaking a little jar."

Hiccup's smile was much more confident. "Well, I didn't even break the jar. It was Fiddlesticks."

The cat. Wow, from where was this boy absorbing all this guilt? "Then it's not even your fault. It's the cat's fault."

"Well… he was kind of scared at the time when he knocked it over. He jumped up to the cupboard and that's when the jar fell."

"Why was the cat scared?" So here was the interesting story. And already Stoick was amused.

Hiccup didn't hesitate in his response. "It was really loud outside. Lots of yelling. And Fiddlesticks doesn't like yelling so he jumped up on the cupboard and knocked over the jar."

Understandable for a cat. "Who was yelling?"

"Astrid and Ruffnut." Hiccup climbed back into his chair and flipped back open his drawing book.

Well, little girls could get loud when yelling. "Why were they yelling, son?"

Hiccup paused from picking up his charcoal. "Apparently girls yell when they get water dumped all over them. They yell and chase you up to your house and then they yell at you some more and scare your cat."

Stoick frowned. Hiccup was not the type to tease girls. In fact, he had more or less left them alone since the pushing Astrid incident when he was younger. "Hiccup, you know better than to dump water on girls!"

"Dad, I didn't dump water on them!" Hiccup replied adamantly. "I forgot about the bucket in the tree from earlier!"

At least his son wasn't teasing girls. "Why did you have a bucket in a tree?"

"In case a fire happened."

Stoick shook his head. Way too responsible a son. Now he was getting paranoid. "Hiccup, why would you be worried about a fire?"

Hiccup picked up his charcoal and set to drawing something. "Because of the flaming arrows. If the flaming arrows got shot down by the village then it would start a fire, so I had a bucket up there because one of the arrows was aimed for that tree. And then when I went to get the bucket it sort of spilled on the girls and that's when they started yelling at me and chasing me."

"What flaming arrows aimed for the tree?" Stoick asked.

"The flaming arrows were not my idea," Hiccup said. "I said that setting arrows on fire was dangerous and stupid and we shouldn't be touching the fire, but of course Tuffnut said I was being stupid and they were the only way to kill the bear. But I thought it would be safer if we rigged the arrows so they would shoot when the bear came by and tripped this alarm but then that idea almost got Spitelout shot so that's when I became really worried about the tree. Spitelout didn't trip all the traps. There's still a lot left."

Stoick took a deep breath. Okay, it was getting a little too interesting. "What are you talking about, Hiccup? Why were you setting up flaming arrows and trying to kill people?" Maybe this was good. Maybe Hiccup did have a future in making weapons.

"Because the bear got way too close to the village so we were afraid it would attack people and that wouldn't be good. It wasn't supposed to get as close as it did. I just thought a bear would be good bait for a dragon trap."

He closed his eyes and bit his lip. "What dragon trap?"

"There isn't a dragon trap, Dad. It fell down." Hiccup flipped back a few pages to an idea he had drawn. "This is what it was supposed to look like. But the bear broke right through it. It was because Snotlout threw rocks at it. He was nearly trampled by the bear. But he's okay. We just had the bear running around at that time."

Stoick barely glanced at the drawing. "Did any of the adults know about this dragon trap you made?"

Hiccup shook his head. "No, they were all busy herding the sheep back up after the whole dragon panic."

There had been a dragon attack while he was gone? "Hiccup, what dragon?"

"Oh, there wasn't a dragon, Dad. We just thought there was. I thought I saw one. Sorry. I started yelling it and then everyone panicked and that's when the sheep got loose. But there wasn't a dragon. That's not a problem."

"Why did you think there was a dragon?"

Hiccup stopped to consider this. "I heard a sound in the woods when I went to get some plants for the doctor after I accidentally knocked this pole over on some people. They're okay now. I think. I didn't know it was just a nighthawk until a lot later."

Stoick decided not to ask about the pole. He didn't understand it. It had seemed so… quiet… returning to the house. He momentarily buried his face in his hands. "Did no one say anything to you?"

Hiccup shook his head. "They said they would wait until you came back, and then talk to you."

Great.


	11. Useless

There was a whir of motion from the front door, up the stairs, and into the bedroom, spanning a mere five seconds and ending with a deafening slam of the upstairs door. Twenty seconds later and Stoick would have missed it as he was about to grab his helmet and head out the door. At least he had narrowly avoided being slammed by the whir of color that was his ten-year-old son. It was only out of muscle memory that his helmet made it to his head.

"Hiccup?" he called.

"I didn't do it!" came the response, clear as crystal though the thick wooden door.

Stoick had never trusted those four little words. He sighed and lumbered to the stairs. "Hiccup, I know I'm going to regret this, but what didn't you do?"

There was a pause so long Stoick assumed Hiccup was not going to respond. But at least it came. "It."

"It". Three less words and the remains was even worse. Stoick tried to remember just what he had been going out to do. Hiccup was very good at rearranging someone else's thoughts. "What is it?"

This time, silence and nothing but.

"Hiccup?" Stoick called again.

Nothing.

He made his way up the stairs and threw open the door. Hiccup was face down in his pillow, lanky arms and legs spread across his bed. He was sniffling.

This couldn't be good.

"Hiccup," Stoick said sternly. "What didn't you do?"

"The boat." The boy's voice was barely audible from the pillow. "The little fishing boat that sunk."

Stoick hoped the little fishing boat was not a euphemism for large war ship. Maybe it was best not to ask. Asking could make things so much worse when it was best not to know the truth. But here was Hiccup crying into his pillow and saying something about a fishing boat on the bottom of the ocean and Stoick had to do something. "Son, tell me what happened."

"No."

"You know you don't say no to me."

The sniffling stopped. "I know."

Stoick crouched down next to the bed. "I need to know what happened."

"No, you don't. Because it doesn't matter any more because I'm not going out there again!"

"Outside?" Stoick shook his head. "That's ridiculous! Of course you'll go back outside."

"Everyone hates me." The sniffling returned.

It was an odd thing to hear from his son. In so many ways to be hated was a good thing. It meant a Viking was feared and respected and had proved his point to someone. And yet Stoick hated that someone was hating his son, his Hiccup. "Who hates you?"

"Everybody. Because the catapult worked and it hit the fishing boat and it sunk and everybody laughed because it was supposed to throw the rock the other way."

"The catapult." Stoick sighed and rubbed his forehead. He had heard about the catapult for days now. A pet project of Hiccup's. All the spare time he had went to working the darn thing. Stoick hadn't minded, he had actually approved of it. Hiccup was smart enough to be designing weapons. "The catapult didn't work."

Hiccup rose to his knees, gaze still focused on the pillow. His eyes were red. "It didn't work the way I thought it would work. The way I told everybody it would work. And they all laughed at me when the boat sunk and then they were mad at me because the boat sunk. So it was a bunch of people who were mad at me and laughing at me. So I'm not going back outside."

"It was just one boat?" Stoick didn't know whether he was supposed to get mad or be comforting or what.

"An old fishing boat. A rowboat. No one was in it, no one was hurt, no one really should have cared. It would have sunk anyway. It wasn't seaworthy."

Stoick could see it in his mind. A mini catapult built by Hiccup. A boulder flying through the air and smashing into a boat. It was actually a rather cool idea. Even smashing the boat. "Hiccup, it's not everyday someone destroys a boat."

Hiccup moaned and crashed back into the pillow. "You're making it worse, Dad. Snotlout called me Hiccup the Useless. Everybody laughed. And he's right. I am useless."

"You're not useless. You just need to…" What did one do with machines? "Tweak it."

"That'll just make it worse."

"Did you show it to Gobber?" Gobber was the one who knew about these things. "Before you… tested it?"

"I forgot."

Hiccup was just as upset as when he had run into the house. And Stoick still had no idea what to do about it. "Then have Gobber take a look at it."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not making anything again. Because no one likes anything I make it. None of them work anyway. Because they're stupid. You don't even look at them."

Stoick had no response to that even though he had seen them. Maybe not when Hiccup was around, but he had seen these crazy things the boy came up with. But he couldn't think of anything to say.

"I miss Mommy," Hiccup mumbled into his pillow.

Stoick shook his head. "Hiccup—"

"Please just go away."

At least he had used the word please instead of yelling at him. Stoick found himself standing up even though he knew he should be saying something else. It was his job, wasn't it? Make it all better?

But all he did was leave and close the door behind him.


	12. Water

The raid came late at night. The most inconvenient time for a dragon raid. Stoick preferred them early in the morning or in the evening. He would prefer the devils not to raid at all, but that apparently was asking a lot, and getting roused from a deep slumber an hour past midnight was the worst. Stoick was barely asleep after a long hard day and next thing he knew dragons had to come stealing sheep and setting things on fire.

Few things infuriated Stoick more.

But come late at night they did, with their horrible screeches and the sounds of their wings and the fires they coughed up as if the village was not built of wood. As inconvenient and annoying as it was and as tired as Stoick was, there was nothing more to be done than to try and beat the overgrown lizards away. Like they did all the time.

He was proud of Berk's defenses. They were strong and solid and of the finest construction Berk's crafsmen could present. Beautiful, even. The catapults and sling-shot towers had been repaired and fortified since the last raid and could certainly throw a boulder a lot further and with much better aim. In his opinion there was no sight greater than a wispy Deadly Nadder going down under the weight of a three-ton rock.

But that, of course, was for the beasts approaching. It was when they slipped past those defenses that things became infinitely more difficult—and infinitely more interesting. That was when the pure barbarian came out, when it was man and muscle and maybe a weapon against snarling, fire-breathing dragon. It was fist against scale, the feeling of sharp metal slicing into dragon flesh or blunt weight against bone.

If only these raids didn't cost so much time, resources, and sometimes lives.

This raid was going as well as a raid could be expected to go. Dragons were stopped mid-air, and the ones who made it the ground to the sheep or goats or lines of fish were met with hard Viking resistance. But Stoick was tired and he was so sick of dragons. All he wanted was for the raid to end without too much damage. It was all he ever wanted. Couldn't enough of them die?

But maybe this would be the night. It was a crazy idea of Hoark's, a man who was known for other crazy-yet-somehow brilliant ideas. Dragons made fire, so they would, as the saying went, fight fire with fire. A small part of Stoick feared the idea would only end with even more buildings on fire, but the idea of sending fireballs at the beasts greatly appealed to him. They were fireproof, for the most part, of course, but perhaps this plan would end up as an element of surprise. Besides, so many in the village were jaded enough to figure it couldn't do much more damage even if it failed.

The idea involved the catapults and sling-shot towers, prepared for this very concept. Soak the usual projectiles in oil, light 'em up, and send them flying to hopefully stun and surprise a dragon before dropping into the harmless ocean.

And as Stoick looked out upon the midnight darkness at the lit bombs of fire he decided that things were going remarkably well. At least, as well as one could expect them to go. A raid was never a good thing and would never be a good thing.

But balls of fire were a distraction for the still-airborne dragons, leaving more warriors to get after those who had made it the ground and the sheep and the houses.

Fires still broke out, but it seemed a fewer number than usual, and the teenagers seemed unusually quick to toss water upon them. Maybe all would end well and Stoick could have the sleep he so desired.

He took a minute or two to bring down a Zippleback to an apologetic mess, then spent a moment as chief to survey the damage. Not much, thank Thor. This was a raid that could be handled, something that was okay. He could deal with this.

Until he noticed something strange out of the corner of his eye.

At first he told himself it was nothing, no one, just another scrawny teenager. Because only a teenager would be allowed outside during a raid. Why would it possibly be anyone younger? It was dark, he was tired, he was obviously seeing things.

But the sight came again, and Stoick couldn't ignore it a second time. A tiny figure running among the warriors and dragons carrying a water bucket.

Stoick sighed. He knew it before he even saw a good look at the face. Hiccup. Unbelievable. Stoick had checked on Hiccup before going outside to face the raid. His son had been asleep, deeply asleep. It was impossible he could be up.

Yet there Hiccup was, doing a job no one else his age was allowed to do. Couldn't he have been happy with his contributions to the fine weaponry and defenses about? Stoick could just imagine Hiccup tripping while trying to throw water and becoming engulfed in flames.

At this point, however, the most Stoick could think was that such a thing would serve the boy right. He tried to focus on the state of the defenses while slowly making his way to where Hiccup was.

He was furious. Of course he was furious. Hiccup had directly disobeyed instructions that every child his age in the village had: stay inside during a raid. Only leave if the house caught fire and endangered your life. No ten-year-olds running about trying to put out fires.

And yet he couldn't help but be impressed. Hiccup was certainly brave. Stupid and foolhardy, but brave. He had risen to a task far above his age and even though he would probably make a mess of it there was a small chance that maybe he would do some good. The fatherly part of Stoick liked to think so, though the logical part of him screamed to stop Hiccup.

He was close enough to see more detail of what Hiccup was planning.

A home had been struck by the flames of a Gronckle. Only a few flames were there, and even a little bucket of water might take care of the problem. Hiccup, the bucket far too bulky and cumbersome for him, wobbled under its weight, but still managed to heave the bucket forward, sending the cooling liquid over the flames.

Stoick watched, wondering if he dared to be impressed and proud.

But something strange happened. Something very strange. Instead of fizzling out, or at least taking a hit expected from a wave of water, the flames burst forth wildly to consume the house and send sparks to the next one.

Something had gone horribly wrong. And while it couldn't be proven, Stoick was pretty sure he knew what had happened.

The bucket. Just from where had Hiccup snatched it? Because Stoick doubted it had been filled with water.

Instead, he was suspecting paraffin oil.

And the house and fire seemed only too happy to be doused with paraffin oil. It was going down, and so was the house next to it. By the time Stoick had reached Hiccup's side, two more houses and a brazier had caught sparks and were burning away.

Hiccup looked up as Stoick reached him, eyes wide in bewilderment and guilt. "Oops. I don't think that was water."

Somewhere in the not so distance vicinity Stoick heard the screams of someone who was probably now on fire.

It was all Stoick could do not to scream. He swallowed it and pointed at the house. "No, Hiccup, I don't think that was water, either."


	13. Hitting

"Dad, what does it mean when a girl hits you?"

Stoick, who had been just on his way out the door to a very important meeting with his warriors, stopped, his hand half-way to grabbing his helmet. He didn't care for people questioning him, and that included his own son.

Though he did have to wonder why Hiccup was asking a question like that. Hiccup tended to ask strange and bizarre questions, but every so often they actually related to something tangible in real life. Stoick turned to look at Hiccup. "What?"

Hiccup sighed and rolled his eyes. "Like you didn't hear me."

"I heard you fine," Stoick protested. He really hated it when Hiccup argued. Stoick didn't like anyone arguing with him. Though he coud admit that this wasn't an argument persay, just one of Hiccup's obnoxious comments.

"Then why did you say what?". Hiccip's tone was still annoyingly the same, but his eyes were drawn toward the axe on the wall, the one he was too small to even be allowed to touch. "It sounded like you didn't hear me and-"

Stoick sighed and held up his hand. "Son, relax. I heard you. Why are you asking about girls hitting you?" Deep down, he prayed that the answer be in the realm of normal.

Hiccup's eyes pulled away from the axe. "Because a girl hit me."

Considering Hiccup's small size it wasn't altogether surprising, as much as Stoick hated to admit it. He decided the important meeting could wait. He had to be the parent and all of that.

And he was kind of curious. "Which girl?" he asked.

"Ruffnut."

Stoick was familiar with that girl. Boisterous little thing with a loud voice and too many smart ideas of the prank variety. She would be a fine warrior someday. She hit everyone. Why would Hiccup be any different? Now how to phrase that answer? "Did you bug her?"

Hiccup dropped eye contact. "I was showing her something I made and she looked at me like I was an idiot and punched me and called me troll booger head."

Sounded reasonable. Hiccup's "inventions" were something of a laughing matter among the children. "You didn't hit her back, did you?"

"No. She has a brother. I can't take both twins."

Stoick sighed again. "It's obvious. She hit you because she wanted you to go away."

"Not because she liked me?"

Stoick shook his head.

Hiccup sighed in relief. "Thank-you Thor."

"Exactly why would you think she likes you?"

Hiccup shrugged. "Snotlout hits Astrid all the time because he likes her."

Stoick caught something in his son's voice. It couldn't be. The boy was too young. "Does Astrid like him?"

Another shrug. "She gets mad and hits him back. So that doesn't mean she likes him?"

He really needed to go. "Uh... I really don't know what you kids do these days. Um... I don't think she likes him."

He had no clue, really. But he had to say something.

But Hiccup looked a little too happy as Stoick left.


	14. Swords

Stoick remembered his first sword with fondness. A sword was a crucial part of a Viking's life, had been and always would be for as long as Viking culture would make its mark on the world. A sword could be the single thing between life and death. It was a weapon, a victory of life, a bringer of death to an enemy. And yet swordmaking was an art, and a sword could be a thing of beauty. There was magic in its weight, grace in its balance, and power in its swing. Yes, there was nothing finger than a good sword, and Stoick's first had been grand if it had done nothing more than educate him in the ways of swordfighting. Not only did he think of it with fondness, but with veneration and solemnity.

He guessed he just assumed that was how everyone else felt about swords.

But Hiccup? Well, Hiccup just did not seem to get it.

That surprised Stoick. Hadn't he spent the first way too many years of Hiccup's life trying to keep the boy away from such sharp and dangerous things? That was supposed to have been a good sign! A sign from the gods that Hiccup and swords went together completely naturally.

But the affinity must have vanished somewhere along the lines of things.

It wasn't that Hiccup didn't like the swords. When Stoick announced it was high time Hiccup learned how to use a sword, his son had been jumping up and down with pure delight. That had, of course, been several years before, but after deciding eight years of age maybe wasn't Hiccup's time Stoick hadn't thought much more of it.

Now at eleven, Hiccup seemed once again raring to learn to use a sword. He had wanted to use the largest of Stoick's set, the one that was several inches taller than Hiccup. Stoick had assumed the Hiccup merely had high aspirations. Nothing wrong with that. Stoick had chuckled and instead had given his son a much smaller one, standard size for children to practice with.

Hiccup was eleven, not eight. But it almost seemed he had become even more clumsy and awkward with a weapon over the past three years.

Hiccup screamed a sad excuse for a Viking scream and ran himself and the sword straight into the wall before Stoick could do a thing.

Though maybe it wasn't a bad thing he didn't do a thing. He certainly thought a lot of things instead. Would Hiccup get hurt? How bad would be the damage to the wall? The sword? If there were damage, how deep would it be and how would that compare to slicing through a dragon's ribcage?

But instead Hiccup and sword bounced off the wall. Hiccup didn't even have the skill to fight for balance. He hit the ball, and immediately he was on the ground.

The wall was not even scratched.

Stoick sighed.

"Uh…" Hiccup struggled to his feet. He could barely lift the sword; it hung from his arms and dragged at the floor. "That was… fun."

If he said so. Stoick nodded.

But then Hiccup shook his head. "Okay, that sucked. Really sucked. But that's okay. I'll just… try again. Like you always say, Dad, Vikings never give up. I'll just go at it again."

"Maybe if I showed you," Stoick began to say, but it was useless.

Once again, Hiccup heaved the sword up and swung it, this time throwing himself into a spin that sent him back to the floor, nearly slicing off his own neck in the process.

Oh, but he needed help. Stoick grabbed the sword and Hiccup and yanked them both up. "You're not even holding it right, son."

"It's a sword," Hiccup protested. "You just… hold it!" But he allowed Stoick to adjust the sword in his hands.

"Now," said Stoick. "Let it be an extension of your arm. It's solid. It moves with you. You're moving from the core of your body. It's not just the wrist."

"But it's heavy!" Hiccup whined.

"It's the smallest sword in the village, Hiccup," Stoick snapped. "Just buck up and hold it!"

Hiccup sighed didn't reply, but it was clear that his skinny arms were shaking under the weight.

More gently, Stoick said "You'll need to carry it that way if you want to kill dragons. You do want to kill dragons, right?"

Hiccup paused, then nodded fervently.

"Why the pause?"

"Isn't there a less heavy way to kill dragons?"

"There's different ways, but swords are the most classic. Everyone needs to learn how to get by with a sword."

Hiccup nodded again. "Now what?"

Stoick tried to think. What did come next in teaching someone how to use a sword? "Then you… kill."

"Okay!" Hiccup swung the sword, connecting the blade right into Stoick's arm.

It didn't even hurt. It didn't even leave a mark.

And Hiccup just fell over again.


	15. Viking Things

Somewhere along the line of things the kids in the village had been given weapons. It made Stoick proud to see it, the screams of pain and annoyance throughout the village celebrating the rise of the future warriors and protectors of Berk. It was a truly beautiful thing that should be celebrated.

He walked down from Meade Hall, taking in every sight the new violence had to offer. The children were all at various levels of skill concerning these weapons, depending on their ages and just who their parents were, but those ready and willing to fight now had the access of which they had only dreamed.

A dragon raid the other night had left nearly a third of the village homeless. Buildings were easy enough to repair and replace, thankfully enough, but the best part was what it did to the children. Kids as young as four were out whacking each other with sticks while the teenagers battled it out in the arena with actual dragons.

Stoick hated dragons more than anything. They were beasts. They were pests. They prevented Berk from having a truly peaceful life. After all, was that not what everyone really wanted deep down? Even though he himself had to admit there were few things more pleasurable than running a good blade through a dragon's intestines.

Besides, dragons and fighting excited people. It was something they wanted to do, wanted to feel. All of it was wonderful, fresh, and exciting to them. It gave them purpose. Culture, he believed the word was. Yes, everyone liked culture and it was important to contribute to it.

In fact, his purpose today was to watch the dragon training, see how it went, see just what the current class of recruits had to offer. Right now, probably nothing but way too many hormones and not enough skills, but the enthusiasm would be enough. Hopefully.

Whatever it was, Stoick had a job as chief to oversee things, make sure everything went well.

But he did not make it to the arena as quickly as he hoped. He was passing the blacksmith shop when he heard noise coming from inside.

Wait a second. Gobber was supposed to be at the arena and Stoick trusted him and knew him enough to confidently assume he was.

So what the devil was going on in there?

Stoick crouched and stepped inside—the place had never been big enough to suit him. "Who's in here?"

Around the corner of a table, something crashed.

It was a very familiar crashing sound, one Stoick knew well. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before deciding to continue on. "Come out. Now."

A face, dirty with coal and grease, peaked out at him. Hiccup. Of course.

"What are you doing here?"

"Uh…" Hiccup knew he had been caught. Now came the moment where he would scramble up for some excuse to defend his every action and expect Stoick to take it.

Stoick decided not to give him the opportunity. "I asked you a question. When I ask a question, I expect an answer."

Hiccup stood up to his full height. He thankfully looked very guilty. "You're just going to get mad at me…"

Hah. "Mad?" he echoed. "Of course I'm mad! You know very well you're not supposed to be in here by yourself. It's against the rules, it's sneaky, and you could get hurt."

"Dad, I'm not going to get hurt," Hiccup said dryly. "I'm not nine anymore. I haven't got hurt here in forever."

"That still doesn't mean you can be in here! Does Gobber know you're here?"

Hiccup paused, then shook his head. "I figured he was at dragon training with the bigger kids so he wouldn't notice…"

"He'll notice after I tell him!" Stoick bellowed. "It's a little late, son, to be avoiding people getting mad at you."

"I just wanted to build something!"

Building. Stoick sighed. The boy was always making something or another. Which would have been just fine with Stoick if he could just build something that actually worked. He had come here to learn the fine art of making weapons, maybe making a useful plow. Not to build crazy things. "Let's go. Now. You're going home."

Hiccup's eyes went wide. Well, they should. He had been grounded at least one a month for the past six months. He was always earning it. Running off during raids, running off the rest of the time, not listening, accidentally burning someone's house down, you named it, Hiccup had done it.

Stoick nodded. "Home. You're grounded."

Hiccup sighed. "Great. Fine. I just won't finish building this weapon."

"Weapon?" Maybe Stoick had spoke too soon. Maybe Hiccup had been busy doing something useful. He was still too scrawny to lift most weapons, and there was no talent there when he could. Which was fine, because the swords he had made were indeed impressive for someone of only twelve years.

Hiccup nodded.

"Well…" Stoick hoped he wouldn't regret this. "Let's see it."

"Okay!" Hiccup's face brightened immediately, and he scampered back around the table to push back around… something.

Stoick had no idea what it was.

It was made with bits of driftwood and left over scraps of metal, all wrapped together like something a sick sheep would throw up.

"It's almost ready," Hiccup said happily. "It will hold a net, and it will shoot the net out and capture any dragon it hits!" He enthusiastically demonstrated with his hands.

Stoick was regretting it, and feeling angrier than before. "Hiccup, I don't know even know what that is!"

"Dad, I just told you!"

Stoick shook his head. "You sneak in here without permission. You take a bunch of garbage and put it together. Hiccup, that is not a weapon. It's a mess."

Hiccup just laughed. "You say that now, but just watch." His hands clasped around some sort of lever.

Though Stoick sincerely doubted it would work, he flinched anyway as the lever was yank down.

Nothing happened.

Stoick frowned. "Let's go home."

"I don't understand," Hiccup said as he moved his hands over it. "It should work. I made up all the plans. It should work!"

"Home. Now. You're grounded."

But Hiccup ignored him. He was practically talking to himself. "That's okay. It's just the first try. A prototype. I'll fix it from here…"

Then, without even a warning snap, a side (or what Stoick guessed to be a side) sprung violently from the contraption and nearly knocked Hiccup over.

"Some weapon," Stoick said as he marched over and grabbed Hiccup's arm.

Hiccup struggled. "Dad!"

"This is a mess," Stoick said. "A waste of time. You could be doing other things."

Hiccup finally stopped struggling. "Yeah? Like what?"

"I don't know. Viking things."


	16. The Question

There were some days when Stoick really wished he were not the chief. It was, in all honesty, a hard job that somebody had to do. And apparently that somebody was him. Oh, he accepted the responsibility willingly. It was his duty, and he would do it. But some days it was hard, nothing more than people demanding things and asking questions and stretching him beyond what he could bare.

Which is why he appreciated the evenings, those lovely stretches of time after sunset where he could pretend he was not the chief. He could go home, relax, have no one around but Hiccup. It was pleasant and rejuvenating. No problems, nothing to think about, no questions. He could sit down, stare into the flames, and not be expected to think.

Until one evening. It had only been a matter of minutes where he had been allowed some much deserved peace when Hiccup, who usually spent the evenings doing his own thing, wandered over, face serious.

Now there was no reason for Stoick to feel concerned, but it was unusual for his twelve-year-old son to talk to him in the evenings. It just wasn't what they did.

"Dad," Hiccup began. "I have a question."

Stoick inwardly groaned. Questions. He did not want to deal with questions right now. But this wasn't some idiot villager, this was his son who happened to be bright enough to ask decent questions so he could certainly spend a minute or two to answer…

Unless…

Unless it was… The Question.

No. It couldn't be. Hiccup was still young, twelve. Oh, no. Twelve was a perfectly common age for The Question.

Stoick began to panic. He had never prepared for this sort of thing. He had assumed he would have plenty of time to think it over and come up with the perfect answers. But he was supposed to have more time. By all the gods in Asgard, he was supposed to have more time!

Maybe it wouldn't be The Question.

At least the panic wasn't showing on his face. He nodded. "Ask away, son."

Nice. He sounded perfectly calm.

Hiccup sucked in a deep breath. "I have a question about growing—"

No. No no no no no! It was The Question. His first horrified instincts had been right. Here was Hiccup asking the inevitable and Stoick was completely unprepared.

But he couldn't show that. No. He was the adult, the parent, the chief of the tribe. It was his job to administer wisdom in such things. He could not show anything less than knowledgeable confidence.

"Ah, yes!" he said, interrupting Hiccup. "I know exactly what you mean."

Hiccup blinked. "You do?" he asked incredulously.

Stoicked laughed. "Hiccup, there are things that happen as you get older. You may soon notice them yourself. And don't worry. It's completely natural and to be expected."

A wave of horror went over Hiccup's face.

"It's okay," Stoick continued. Wow, good so far. Where to go onto next? He would continue in the same vein. "Changes happen. Some big, some little. These changes are necessary and good."

Now Hiccup just looked confused. "Good for what?"

Oh Thor. He had to ask that. Stoick had almost hoped that could be avoided. Though he supposed it was the big Answer to the Question. Now how to say it? "Good for… life. Yes, that's it. The creation of life. All that you see around you on this island is part of life, and this happens because of these changes. You see, males are given… certain desires while females also change. They experience desires as well. Again, completely natural. It happens with all creatures."

"But—"

No interruptions. Stoick was on a role. This was sounding good. Vague but good. He wasn't sure how specific he should be, but he figured a twelve-year-old didn't need that many details. "But you need to know these things, Hiccup. Boys and girls, as these changes come upon them, will be drawn toward each other as they feel the desires the gods intended. And when the time is right, a male and female can… come together, and the changes put upon them will allow them to create life."

Hiccup looked very uncomfortable. "But—"

"These changes can be shocking, Hiccup. Very shocking. Things will happen, things you will not expect. Sometimes at night—"

"Dad, I already know this!" Hiccup burst out.

Stoick spent a few moments flailing for words. "What do you already know?"

Hiccup rolled his eyes and sighed. "The Changes," he said with a half-mocking tone. "Or where babies come from. All of that, whatever you want to call it."

So what had Stoick been blathering on about? "How do you know?"

"Tuffnut and Ruffnut. They told everybody like a year ago."

Well, could kids really trust each other? Stoick frowned. "How do you know what they said is accurate?"

Hiccup shrugged. "Sounded more believable than what Fishlegs said about a stork."

"Oh." Stoick wasn't sure what else to say. "But you were asking…"

"Pumpkins, Dad. You didn't let me finish. I've been trying to grow a pumpkin all year and I don't know when it's supposed to done."

Why was Hiccup trying to grow a pumpkin? That question would be on his mind for the rest of the night. He looked at his son. "Oh. Sorry. Um… I don't know."

Hiccup nodded. "Okay. You could have said that in the first place." He walked off.

Stoick really hated people asking him questions.


	17. Hunting

Sometimes it seemed to Stoick that everything in the village revolved around dragons. He knew that was what was the visual, but he knew the truth, or at least the truth of what should be. There was more to life than killing dragons, much more, and he appreciated every non-dragon moment of Berk life as much as possible. That was why he wanted the dragons gone for good.

Berk might be full of Vikings, but there were more to Vikings than a reputation for killing and plundering. Berk was a village, with people and families. Berk had fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets that had inspired many a person of artistic sensibilities. There were chores to do, lives to live, simple pleasures to be enjoyed.

Like hunting. One might say that hunting was a little too akin to dragon killing and they might be right in some ways, but Stoick simply did not see it that way. Killing dragons was killing dragons in order to protect the village and hunting was killing animals for the combination of sport and necessity. It was a noble thing, interesting and powerful, dating back to the origins of what Vikings were. Those who lived with nature and took their place in it, made their own mastery.

Hiccup, however, just did not seem to see it the same way.

It wasn't as if Hiccup was not interested. He agreed happily enough when Stoick had suggested they go hunting one day, and he agreed without any of the subtle eye-rolling or scoffing or all those other little annoying behaviors he was so good at. It had been a simple matter of "Hiccup, how about we go hunting today?" followed by a perfectly honest "Okay."

Which had seemed pretty good, better than Stoick had expected. Now that Hiccup was thirteen, Stoick felt that he should make more of an effort to talk to the boy. Apparently teenagers became withdrawn, secretive, and moody and therefore it was a parent's duty to make sure they didn't fall too much that way. The teenage years were a completely new phase of life where communication had to begin again, completely from scratch.

So of course it had boded well that Hiccup had willingly agreed, sharpened his hunting knife without being reminded, and followed Stoick out into the woods.

It was early summer, and the green colors did incredible things to Berk. Everything was alive and vibrant as if to make the best of the short season and prove that the little island could make its mark between the times of ice and snow. Stoick breathed in the air. Yes, it was just how Viking air should taste.

"So where are the animals?" Hiccup asked, completely oblivious to the beauty around him.

"Animals?" Stoick gestured vaguely at the trees. "Out and about. Hiding."

"So if they're hiding, how do we hunt them?" Hiccup wandered closer to Stoick, staring at the blade of his knife.

Was that a good sign? Hiccup eager to kill something? Frankly, Stoick couldn't tell if Hiccup was eager to kill something or if he were just playing with a knife. It was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

"That's the sport of it, son!" Stoick had been on several wonderful hunting trips where nary a kill was made. "It's not just getting the animal. It's tracking it. It's being out in the wilderness. It's the entire experience!"

They were the right words to say, and Hiccup's eyes did shine a little more. "Oh!"

Stoick laughed. "And just what did you think hunting was?"

Hiccup shrugged. "Going out into the woods and bringing back dinner."

"That's the simple version. That misses the point entirely."

Hiccup seemed more and more interested every second. Good. Stoick had imagined hunting might prove to be Hiccup's thing. He always seemed lost in thought and distracted; wandering the woods should suit him. "Wow. That is cool."

Stoick nodded and stared into the trees. If game were closer, they were scaring it off. They'd have to be quiet.

"So what happens if you really did need something to eat and you didn't manage to get anything?"

Stoick put a finger to his lips. "The art, Hiccup, is silence. Don't frighten the animals."

"But we're Vikings," Hiccup persisted. "I thought we were supposed to frighten things."

"Not during hunting. It's more of an art. Silence. Sneaking."

"Oh." Hiccup was silent long enough to consider that. "But when we attack other people, wouldn't we maybe get a lot more done if we were silent and sneaky. They wouldn't know we were coming."

Like a thirteen-year-old would know about battle strategies. Stoick once again motioned him to be quiet as they walked through the trees.

There really did not seem to be any game about at the time. Not that it bothered Stoick, but he felt that it would be nice for Hiccup to be able to get something on a hunting trip.

"Watch the trees," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "And listen. For sounds. Any movement." Hiccup was always looking at something else, so this would be the perfect situation for him. He glanced at his son to see if he were listening.

Hiccup was weaving blades of grass together.

Stoick shot him a dark look, and Hiccup dropped the blades, blushing.

But even with an eventually quiet and attentive Hiccup, there just did not seem to be many animals stalking through the woods of Berk that day. And as the hours passed, even Stoick, who considered himself meant for the woods, found himself uncomfortable with the silence.

Well, he had intended it as some sort of father/son bonding event.

"Well," he said gruffly. "Guess there's not much going on to hunt today."

Hiccup looked up at him with an evident "kill-me-now" expression.

Stoick forced a chuckle. "Don't tell me you're bored already! Why, there's nothing better than spending a day wandering in the woods, enjoying nature."

Hiccup managed a nod and a weak smile.

They stopped to rest beneath a tree. Hiccup still looked bored.

Stoick took a deep breath and tried to think of something to say. He then realized he had no idea what to say to Hiccup. "So… how are things?"

"Good," Hiccup replied with a shrug.

"Good," Stoick echoed. "Good. That's good. I'm glad to hear it. Things should be… good."

"Yup." Hiccup paused. "And how are things with you?"

Harvest production was fighting a losing battle to the dragon raids, one of his best warriors had broken his leg and probably wouldn't be moving it for a month, and exploring the other end of the island had found a truly fascinating burial ground… how to say all of that? "Good."

This was getting nowhere.

Fortunately, just as Stoick was considering throwing a rock into the woods to pretend it was an animal to end the awkwardness, an animal appeared.

A rabbit.

Nothing particularly glorious, but it was something.

Hiccup perked up immediately. And he was clever enough to shut up and not move. "What do I do?" he whispered.

Do? Hadn't Stoick taken Hiccup out hunting before? He couldn't really remember. "Throw your knife," he whispered back. "Or… take my bow."

The bow was about as twice as big as Hiccup. Hiccup stared at him.

"Knife, then," Stoick continued. "We have practiced throwing knives. And it's not doing anything. Just nibbling on some plants."

Hiccup nodded and stood up. His form was decent, practicing had seen to that. His eyes were focused on the rabbit, the aim sure. All he had to do was release the power held in his arm and throw.

Go on, Hiccup, Stoick thought.

But then Hiccup's hands shook, and the rabbit hopped away.

Hiccup brought down his hands and the knife with a nervous gasp. "Sorry. I was going to do it, Dad. I was."

Great. His son couldn't even kill a rabbit.


	18. Priorities

Stoick regretted that day seven years before when he had inexplicably decided to get his son a pet cat.

Exactly what had he been thinking at the time? Something to give Hiccup responsibility, something to do so Stoick didn't have to watch him all day. Silly reasons.

Stoick had completely forgotten that village was constantly besieged by dragons. Big, ugly, mean dragons desperate for any source of food that the Vikings were desperate to keep? It was all Stoick could do to beat the devils away and protect what he could, and even then he couldn't always save the important things.

So just how was he supposed to explain to his son that his cat had been caught by a dragon?

Funny how that was the big thing on his mind as he tackled two Gronckles at once. Not the lost food supply, not the destruction, not the potential loss of human life. A insignificant cat. Hiccup could handle that. Hiccup was thirteen, somewhat mature, a Viking, and his son to boot. He would suck it up and get over it. He would be fine. Maybe Stoick could find him another pet.

Though Stoick perhaps should not be thinking about pets as a flaming Nightmare rolled into an elderly widow's house.

How he hated these raids! They made him think far too much. A raid with over three dozen dragons was not a time for thinking. It was a time for action. Not thinking about a child's pet.

Stoick really hoped Hiccup wouldn't be too upset.

Where was Hiccup, anyhow? Stoick knew very well where he was supposed to be. Boys his age could warn others. Then they all knew they were supposed to go home—or to a neighbor's home should their house be on fire—and stay where it was safe.

If Hiccup were home, he would probably already notice Fiddlesticks the cat was missing.

But Hiccup had never been very good about following instructions like that, so he probably wasn't at home.

Which meant…

Thor, sometimes he wanted to strangle that boy!

Stoick immediately began searching among the flames, dragons, and people, ready to spot the scrawny frame of Hiccup. But Hiccup was small enough he could be anywhere.

Stoick bashed the last of the two Gronckles against the ground and took off. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe Hiccup was home and already noticed the missing cat and that would save Stoick quite the explanation. Maybe everything was okay.

So if he searched for any sign of Hiccup while protecting the village, it was completely incidentally. And eventually any fear for Hiccup for fear of explaining about the cat melted away…

Until he spotted Hiccup, an axe far too heavy for him lying near him, huddled between the remains burning house and a Deadly Nadder.

This time Stoick cursed Thor. Well, a giant pecking firebreathing pest of a dragon like a Deadly Nadder was easily taken down and Hiccup saved… if Stoick could get there in time. Stoick hurried toward his son, suddenly oblivious of the rest of the destruction around him.

The Deadly Nadder hissed as Stoick swung his sword at it. It made a few swipes, but then smartly decided there were other things it could deal with besides Stoick. Normally Stoick would have chased after the beast, showed it truly what was what, but Hiccup was on his knees, red in the face and coughing.

Well, being that close to a fire tended to mean a lot of smoke in the lungs.

"What were you thinking?" Stoick thundered furiously. "What did you think you were doing?" It just did not seem the right time to explain about the cat.

Hiccup tried to reply, but another wave of coughing came out instead.

Stoick froze.

Then Hiccup's eyes closed, and he collapsed forward onto the ground.

Not a good sign. Stoick quickly scooped him up. Hiccup was thirteen and would never willingly submit to being carried, but when men fell in battle that was exactly what had to happen.

Stoick wished this raid would just end.

* * *

It didn't seem too bad. By midmorning Hiccup still had not woken up, but he was breathing normally and seemed to have coughed the rest of the smoke from his lungs. The Deadly Nadder had managed a rather deep cut across Hiccup's shoulder, but everyone had seen worse. Hiccup had done nothing more than inhale a little too much smoke and get himself a little too close to a dragon. It had happened before.

Stoick didn't care.

It could have been worse. It could have been so much worse. Hiccup wasn't very big. A little too much smoke was a lot of smoke, and Hiccup was not the type that should be trying to kill dragons. He would get lost in their teeth before he was even swallowed. What was a boy like that out fighting dragons? Weren't there a dozen other things he could do to help during a raid?

Maybe next time it wouldn't be a single Deadly Nadder. Maybe it would be two of them. Or a Gronckle. Or a Monstrous Nightmare. Or a Night Fury, for all Stoick knew. Maybe next time it wouldn't be smoke, but a full-blown raging fiery explosion.

It made Stoick sick to think about it. He could barely handle the thought of what had happened that night.

Too much to handle.

Maybe he could just shove that aside and think about how to tell Hiccup about the cat.


	19. Girls

What was it with teenagers? Were they always so weird and hormonal? Stoick could not very well remember being one, and maybe he just had never paid enough attention to the other teens around the village to make much of a judgment. It just seemed to him that after Hiccup turned fourteen, the boy became even more bizarre, and Stoick often found himself scratching his head over it.

Granted, the two of them had never been the best at conversation, but then again what strong male Viking was? Conversation was a paltry thing, completely unnecessary when it came right down to it. At least that was what Stoick told himself whenever awkward silent moments arose. He really hated all those awkward silent moments. He would just have to stop defining them as awkward. No matter if they had as of late increased quite a bit. The evenings were quiet, neither of them apparently feeling there was much to say except for an occasional detail about the day.

Except for the fighting. Good gods, when had Hiccup become so argumentative? Well, looking back, he always had been, but now he was even more so, to the point where Stoick didn't feel he could do or saying anything right without Hiccup protesting or criticizing it or, Valhalla help them all, suggesting a "better" way to do it. It was annoying and even if in the end Hiccup would become grudgingly respectful it was all Stoick could do not to march out into the middle of the woods and scream his head off.

Then there was the whining and the complaining that Stoick never heard himself, but he heard from Gobber. Stoick felt bad for the other man, apparently having to spend all day listening to Hiccup going on and on about who knew what, and Stoick didn't even know how much of what Hiccup said made it to Stoick's ears through Gobber.

If Hiccup had something to say that was that important, why couldn't he just say it to his father?

And Hiccup was moody. He had always been a relatively happy child, so the moodiness was another thing Stoick could not fathom. Suddenly he was more secretive than usual, always wandering off on his own, sneaking back in the house at the end of the day like Stoick wouldn't notice him. Stoick wished he would just be a little more outgoing and brave and stand up for himself once in a while. Deal with life. There was no need to fight every little disaster with moodiness.

Then again, maybe it was a teenager thing. Stoick didn't know, but he did know it was driving him crazy.

And then came a morning when things were suddenly different. Hiccup was smiling. An actual smile, not the weird ones he gave when his mind was elsewhere. An actual, conscious, determined smile.

At first, Stoick decided not to say anything. He knew if he said anything about any change in Hiccup's demeanor, Hiccup would probably have something to say to Gobber about that. But Hiccup seemed to be in such a good mood that Stoick finally could not keep back a gruff comment.

"You look happy this morning."

Hiccup did look slightly uncomfortable with that assessment, as Stoick had expected him to, but the good mood seemed there to stay. Though his face was red, he forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm… I'm going to ask a girl out today."

Stoick chuckled. Well, no wonder the boy was so happy. Confidence was necessary in winning the heart of a woman, and a smile seemed to suggest Hiccup was full of that. Now how much did he dare pry into this situation? "Astrid?" Hiccup had been staring at her for a while now.

Hiccup blushed an even deeper red, made a face that screamed he would rather not talk about it, and shook his head. "No, not Astrid."

Stoick suddenly hoped Hiccup hadn't developed feelings for that crazy Thorston girl. "Oh. You don't like her anymore?"

Hiccup rolled his eyes, and Stoick knew he had asked too much. Teenagers.

"I like her," Hiccup said as he tried to inch closer to the door. "But I'm asking someone else out. For practice."

"Who?" Stoick couldn't help but curiously ask.

But Hiccup, face bright red, was already out the door.

Stoick couldn't help it; the situation was on his mind the rest of the day. He couldn't help but think of it and Hiccup and how everything would pan out.

He got his answer when Hiccup returned that night with a black eye. Hiccup seemed very good at getting black eyes when he involved himself with girls. Or maybe it wasn't a girl and Stoick was jumping to conclusions.

Hiccup was half-way through sneaking up the stairs when Stoick dared to ask "How did it go?" Like he hadn't seen the black eye on his son.

Hiccup froze. "How did what go?"

"The asking the girl out. How did it go?"

Hiccup was silent for a long time. Another one of those awkward silences. "I hate girls!"

Yup, the black eye was from a girl. Stoick took a deep breath and tried to decide if he should find this funny or worrisome. "So the girl said no?"

"No, Dad, I hit my eye on a tree branch after I gracefully won her affections," he replied sarcastically. "What do you think?"

"She hit you for asking her out?"

"No, she tripped me and laughed," Hiccup said with evident humiliation. "Tuff hit me."

Great. He had asked out the crazy Thorston girl. Stoick shook his head and tried not to smile. "Maybe you should have practiced on somebody else."

Hiccup shook his head. "Ruff said she will only go out with someone who can kill a dragon. Girls only like guys with dragon-killing skills."

Stoick briefly closed his eyes. He knew what was coming. That darn dragon training. Hiccup would want to do that. Lots of kids wanted to. Kill dragons, claim glory. Stoick had even been working on a helmet for Hiccup, but the boy wasn't ready!

"Can I go into dragon training?" Hiccup asked.

"No," Stoick replied before he could even think about it.

"But-"

Stoick shook his head. "No!"

Hiccup sighed and collapsed on the stairs. "Then how do I get a girlfriend?"

A serious question. Stoick wasn't ready for this. He tried to think. "Well, by… being a Viking."

"Without killing dragons?"

There was always time for that later, and if Stoick could just get rid of the dragons, dragons wouldn't even be part of the equation. "Well, it's not just that. It's… fighting. Being tough. Girls want someone who can be a protector and provider. If you can stand up for yourself, be tough, be confident, well, that's what girls like. You know. Vikings. Look at everyone around here for an example." Stoick really had no idea what he was saying, but it sounded okay.

Hiccup sighed again. "I was afraid of that." He trudged the rest of the way up the stairs. "'Night."


	20. Worst

There was nothing quite like watching a ship burn in the harbor. That horrific combination of the beauty and power of fire and the knowledge of the sudden waste of time, energy, and resources, all of it going up in one fiery pyre.

Yes, the only thing that beat such a sight was watching a solid half-dozen ships burn in the harbor. One would think that the fact that the ships were floating on water would affect the burning mess, but apparently it just did not work that way.

Stoick stared at the middle-of-destruction ships, not knowing if he were furious or beyond emotional caring. Around him he could feel the cold stares of every warrior in the village combined with the muttering of a few choice strongly worded phrases.

Stoick's hand clenched tighter around Hiccup's shoulder. Not enough to cause any pain, of course, but hopefully enough to give a suggestion of the amount of trouble Hiccup was now in. Hiccup squirmed under Stoick's grip, but did not try to escape.

"Sorry, Dad," he muttered for the tenth time.

Oh, yes, he had better be sorry. Six ships were out there sending out ashes to cover the island. Six perfectly good, strong ships gone in a few blinks of the eye.

Stoick carefully measured his breath. Control. He had to be in control here. He was in front of the entire village and his son, and he had an example to set. The words were difficult to select. "What," he said between clenched teeth, "were you doing… outside?"

Hiccup struggled again and mumbled something that no earthly creature would ever understand.

Stoick decided his emotions were ranging closer to furious. "You want to repeat that?"

Another mumble.

Stoick groaned deeply. A past-midnight raid, a Night Fury attack, and now ships lighting up the darkness. And his son was suddenly incapable of speaking clearly. "Hiccup," he said sharply. "What were you doing outside?"

Finally, Hiccup managed to make interpretable "Trying to kill a dragon."

Stoick was incapable of speech for a long time, during which his only pleasure was the idea of Hiccup's misery. At least Hiccup wasn't one of these kids who would admit they did wrong with no remorse whatsoever. At least Hiccup felt remorse. But that did not change the fact of what the boy had just done. But Hiccup did not kill dragons. He was not allowed to leave the house or Gobber's shop during a raid. He was supposed to be indoors where he wouldn't get someone or himself killed. Was Hiccup blind to the damage that erupted around him whenever he attempted what he wasn't ready to handle? Did he not get it?

"Get back to the house," Stoick whispered. "Get back to the house and stay there." He then released Hiccup and watched him scamper up the hill.

Then he turned to the rest of the crowd. Oh, how he hated these moments. Having the entire village watching another father/son moment. Stoick hated disciplining Hiccup in public, absolutely hated it. He hated Hiccup having to experience the humiliation of that in front of everyone. But what else was Stoick supposed to do when everyone saw the Hiccup-caused disaster in the first place?

"Clean up!" he bellowed. "Look for any remaining dragons, any last flames, round up the livestock!" Such a better command than "Show's over!"

He started up the hill. He would talk with Hiccup, then come back and maybe decide how to deal with the ships.

"Six ships," Hoark muttered as Stoick walked by. "That has to be a new record!"

Stoick tried not to respond.

"Two of those were made this year!" cried Phlegma. "Brand new, finest wood we could provide. Now gone."

"Those ships will be hard to replace."

"Obviously," snapped Stoick. "We'll have to deal with it later, though. We will worry about the ships later."

"That son of yours causes chaos every time he steps outside," said Stockard.

Nothing was getting done. Stoick was left with a village of Vikings who would rather stand around gossiping in the middle of the night than take care of their village.

But before he could say anything, it continued.

"He's going to be punished for this, isn't he?" asked Ack. "Every raid he causes more damage than the dragons! Can't you put a stop to it?"

"He's supposed to stay inside!" Stoick defended. It sounded pathetic even to him. "If you see him, you know to send him back."

"Except he's incapable of listening," someone mentioned.

"He listens just fine." Why was he listening to this? Stoick did not have to answer to any of them. Hiccup was his responsibility, not theirs. He didn't need to hear this. He was the one who had to be with Hiccup everyday.

"Don't know how you deal with him," Spitelout said with a shake of his head. "Right now he's just the worst Viking of this place."

Stoick felt something snap inside of him. That was too far, way too far. He was Stoick the Vast, the Chief. Anyone who thought they could insult his son in front of him was…

But there was the crack of a stick, and Stoick turned to look before he could scream out anything.

There was Hiccup, nowhere near the house and far too close to the circle of Vikings, but finally heading slowly up the hill.

* * *

_Author's note: Until I see from-the-movie-people evidence of age, I get to say Hiccup is however old I want him to be! =D_

_And... one more to come! Tomorrow comes the DVD/Blu-Ray/Whatever!_


	21. Hiccup

The attack came before dawn. Was there ever a worse time for dragons to come poking their ugly snouts about? Evening was acceptable, as was the midnight area, but that awkward pre-dawn time meant a village mostly deep asleep and completely unprepared for dealing with dragons. It meant people to rouse, if they had not already been awakened by the noise, chaos, and confusion of the raid—not to mention their homes burning down right around them.

It was not as if Berk could simply choose when the awful devils made their way over. Was there supposed to be a good time for these raids? Did Berk ask for the winged monsters to dive down and destroy everything for which the village had worked? Had the village ever wanted competition for precious resources? Was it an ideal life to constantly fend off dragons until ever single solitary soul in Berk was near-obsessed with their destruction?

Sometimes Stoick felt he was, and that infuriated him all the more. Why should the beasts have such a hold on him? He would like nothing more than to never see a dragon again, never have to have one cross his mind, never deal with the sight of them, the stench of them, the way the constant battle with them showed itself in every other statue and carving in Berk. Dragons defined Berk's entire culture. How disheartening was that? Be known as the tribe that glorified a war they could never win?

Well, they would have to eventually win it. Beat the dragons back, claim their place as victors, and move on with life to build something truly magnificent.

It was that thought, that goal, that kept him from going mad with the constant dragon threats. It was that thought that made him repeat the same violent-yet-tiring task of having to throw everything else aside to fight back the dragons that destroyed everything they had to toss aside in order to fight the dragons. It was a vicious and unending cycle, and Stoick just wanted it over, whatever it took.

So there he was, wide awake with the first signs of dawn piercing the horizon as dragons flew over the sky in the first signs of attacks. The sheep were baaing in the fields, terrified but notifying all the dragons of their presence. Stupid sheep. Sheep were truly the stupidest creatures alive and the darn animals had to be protected if anyone wanted any wool and meat come winter. They needed to be herded up, kept safe, kept from being carried off. Above the dragons were practically drooling, several already swooping in close for attacks. All around the village was fortunately prepared, towers going up, catapults ready as every warrior had been trained for years.

It should have been as exciting as all the teenagers thought it was, but to Stoick it was dull and tiring. They should not have to be doing this. What they needed was one good attack, nothing defensive, but something offensive to get rid of the dragons once and for all, the awful creatures that had caused nothing but misery to the village for centuries.

It needed to end.

But that morning it was a conglomerate, all those common species that seemed to consider Berk a favorite haunt and dinner spot. Gronckles buzzing around like overgrown insects, Hideous Zipplebacks setting everything in the vicinity on fire, and even a report of that fierce Monstrous Nightmare. All they needed was a Night Fury or two to show up and it would just be one grand party. Said so in sarcasm, of course.

At least the village was active. Every warrior conscious and ready and working, the kids working hard to combat the fires no matter how fruitless the task. And Hiccup… well, to be honest, Stoick had no idea where his son was. Hopefully in the shop with Gobber actually helping out or maybe safe at home ensuring the safety and peace of the entire village. Either location would be a blessing.

For Stoick's own pride, he preferred the first idea. How fine would it be to have a son who could boast of being the finest swordsmith around, or something equally useful and grand. For his own peace of mind, he preferred the latter.

Stoick did not prefer the kid to be running around in the middle of the madness. At least Hiccup could manage to stay out of Stoick's sight. He was disgusted when he had to grab Hiccup by the collar and yell at him to get back inside.

Hiccup had a death wish, that much was for sure. For a boy who had grown up in Berk, had way too many encounters with dragons, and who was so eager to face them still, Hiccup had no respect for the beasts whatsoever. What did he think it was? A game? Some big drama that he could win and become the hero of? Like fighting a dragon was something someone should actually want? It was one thing to face them out of necessity and conquer, but it was quite another to seek it out. Foolhardy and just plain idiotic. No matter what Stoick said, Hiccup did not seem to get it. Every time even of a rumor of a dragon came through the village, Stoick was struck by the same nightmare that Hiccup would rush straight into a dragon's clutches and die a horrible death.

Which he probably would deserve, but justice like that was hard to appreciate when one was the father.

Hiccup would go inside. Maybe. Home. The forge. Somewhere safe or useful. At least Stoick no longer saw him around.

Wherever Hiccup was, Stoick just hoped he had the good sense to stay there.

But Stoick needed to stop having such hopes. In the middle of a productive move of gathering up some sheep for safety from a few meddling dragons, Stoick heard an all-too-familiar scream that sent a stab of terror into his heart.

Hiccup.

On the ridge above was the profile of a scrawny teenager running pell-mell from a Monstrous Nightmare.

Of course.

Stoick sighed and ordered something to his men about taking over whatever he had just been doing before his senseless son had decided to throw himself in harm's way. Again.

Had he not just told the boy to get back inside?

The next few minutes were ones that barely registered in Stoick's mind. Maybe they were all too repeated and familiar. Hiccup cowering behind something in safety, a Monstrous Nightmare happily lighting itself up. The thrill of the fight that Stoick knew he should not like but he still did.

And all of this followed by a burning, falling brazier, screams, and the destruction of docks while Stoick stared down at his guilty son.

The boy was impossible.

Stoick tried to think of something to say, but he couldn't think of anything good enough.

Hiccup tried to make everything better. "Okay, but I shot down a Night Fury."

That was it. Hiccup's weird excuses should have disappeared years ago, back with stories about trolls and night hawks confused as dragons and every other childish behavior. Not now, not when he should be acting like a real Viking. He should have been good, at least decent. He was admittedly small, but he was smart and quick and a boy like that should have better things to do than making up stories about Night Furies while threatening the winter survival of the entire village!

Stoick grabbed his son by the shoulder and tried to drag him away from the gathering glowering crowd. All Hiccup did was blather on about the same Night Fury story. Like such imaginative excuses had ever worked.

Stoick responded, of course. Hiccup expected responses, even though Stoick knew Hiccup probably wouldn't like what he had to say and would quip back with the same sarcastic remarks he had for years.

Well, that was Hiccup. He had been this way for years. Smart, bright, and completely impossible.

Stoick had no idea what to do with him.

_The End_

_

* * *

Author's Note: Well, that's it! I know some of you wanted to see this through the movie and beyond, which I seriously might do, but probably as a separate story. I think I always planned on taking this just to the movie, and here I am! I wanted this to be about their pre-movie relationship, and I think the movie itself takes care of the rest. Thanks for reading and for all your great comments!_


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